


The Assistant

by 014469



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Artist Steve Rogers, Bad Poetry, Bucky Barnes Feels, Falling In Love, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hipster Steve Rogers, Insecure Bucky Barnes, Kisses, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smut, awkward boys, bucky is an introvert, bucky may have been modeled on Bernard Black, but thats hush hush, coffee as a plot device, frustratingly oblivious boys in love, magazine editor Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-08 06:38:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 51,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7747012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/014469/pseuds/014469
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a disastrous first meeting, cynical, misanthropic magazine editor Bucky Barnes is mortified to learn that Steve Rogers has been assigned as his temporary assistant to help with his work load. Enter Steve Rogers, the not-at-all-hipster art critic and shitty-poetry-aficionado. </p>
<p>Bucky has Steve as his assistant for one month before he starts a new job in another part of the magazine. Can he convince Steve, and himself, that there's more to him than the bitter, coffee-soaked outer shell everyone else sees?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Weekend

**Author's Note:**

> This is what I write to distract myself from my PhD thesis! 
> 
> No warnings for this chapter, apart from a pretty mild description of an asthma attack and some shitty misogynistic language from Brock.  
> Bonus points for spotting the terrible pun in this chapter.

It was Saturday morning. Bucky Barnes stretched lazily in bed, burrowing under the blankets slightly to warm up his nose and wondering what he’d do with all the free hours ahead of him. Saturday mornings held a special sort of promise for him, tantalising potential for the new day to become anything he wanted, or so he let himself believe. In reality, he’d be doing what he did every Saturday, lingering over a solitary breakfast, sighing over laundry and trying to straighten his apartment before heading to the gym with his buddies in the afternoon. Same thing, every week. The weekend morning routine felt lonely and tedious, but at the same time, it was what he’s been doing for years and it hadn’t backfired yet. With a good, safe start to the weekend, he felt he could do anything. Well, less could go wrong, anyway.

He headed out the door to the gym an hour and a half later, the comforting hum of the washing machine fading as he closed his door behind him. Bucky winced as he hefted his gym bag with his left arm, his bad arm, before switching hands as his left elbow gave an unexpected throb. It had been three years and a hell of a lot of physical therapy since his accident, but he still occasionally needed to go a little easier on that side, still needed to be careful not to push it too far. Today was just one of those days, he thought to himself as he started his car and pulled into the street. He was going to have to watch it in the gym if he didn’t want to over-do things. He technically did have an elbow brace, but – he’d never actually worn the thing, you know, _in public._ There was a very good reason for that, a reason Bucky couldn’t help but sigh over as he pulled into the parking lot at the Hydrate gym and saw Brock’s car already there. 

From a distance, thought Bucky, his gym buddies made a beautiful group. Beautiful on the outside, not so much on the inside. The group usually worked out together on Saturday afternoons in a loose rotation of men who all encouraged and spotted for one another. Bucky had found the group soon after he’d started coming to this gym, having been introduced by his old trainer. Physical therapy had been, and still was, an important part of building up the muscles along his left arm after the accident, and working out with a group of muscle-bound walking fitspirations made sense, even if they were the kind of people Bucky secretly hoped he’d never become. Whatever. They were his gym buddies, not his actual friends. Even though he hung around them, that didn’t mean he was anything like them, right? 

Brock, in particular, was mean and vain, aware of how fit and gorgeous he was and too quick to put other people down for what he perceived as their physical imperfections. When Bucky had started working out, Brock had been antagonistic for a few months before deciding, all of a sudden, that Bucky belonged in his clique of beautiful gym people. Bucky still didn’t quite know why, he knew he kept himself in shape but the rest of the guys were something else. In his grumpy moments, Bucky thought it a little off-putting, too many muscles, bad spray tans and identical perfect smiles making the group look like over-inflated balloon clones. In his even grumpier moments, Bucky thought that his welcome into the group had come suspiciously on the heels of his promotion to Editor at the magazine, and subsequent raise in both pay and recognisability. Only in his grumpy moments, of course. The rest of the time, well, Bucky knew they couldn’t be _complete_ assholes if they were nice to him, right? I mean, who wasn’t a little bit of an asshole, these days? 

 

Bucky first saw the new guy when he was meant to be encouraging Brock. Of course, Brock had been lifting for a while but was only covered in the smallest amount of sweat. Bucky had silently drifted to the background for this round, not wanting to let on about his now-aching left arm lest Brock whine and call him a damn baby pussy, again. Bucky had lifted his sweaty head away from Brock for a second, ignoring the overt grunting coming from the older man as he reached the end of his set because Jesus Christ that new guy was tiny!

A small, skinny man had come into the gym and wandered over to a nearby treadmill with a bottle of water in one hand and something blue and bulky in the other. He had milk-pale skin and short blond hair the colour of corn in August, shaved in at the back and sides but left longer on top. His skinny frame was almost swamped by a baggy tee shirt and shorts, but Bucky could see that his arms and calves looked solid despite their thinness. The guy had a wiry build, and moved like he was in complete control of his body. The new guy pushed a headphone bud into his right ear only, face turned away from Bucky, and appeared to be choosing music on a phone that he pulled from the pocket of his shorts. Bucky saw a hearing aid nestled in his left ear. Before climbing up onto the treadmill with only a _little_ bit of a hop, the new guy turned to survey the rest of the near-empty gym. He had cornflower blue eyes, a long, slightly crooked nose and a full, pink mouth that was open slightly as his eyes met Bucky’s.

_Oh shit,_ thought Bucky, _he’s hot!_

Bucky jerked his eyes back down to where Brock was still benching that ridiculous amount of weight, grunts now turning slightly feral and veins starting to stick out in his forehead. No one else seemed to have noticed the small new guy, the rest of the group too busy cheering Brock on in his crusade to look even more ridiculously overinflated. Bucky tried to keep a smile on his mouth and his eyes on Brock, but he couldn’t help them wandering over to where the new guy had started jogging nearby, face set in a hard, determined line and slim body powering forwards with each step.

Bucky’s tongue darted between his own lips, as he noticed the strangers’ beautiful pink mouth opening slightly. For one crazy moment Bucky imagined those lips moving against his own, imagined that small slender body pressing him against the wall while one of his thighs moved between Bucky’s own –

_Stop that!_

Shaking his head slightly, Bucky frowned at his own fantasy. Shit, he really needed to get laid if he was fantasising so easily about complete strangers in the gym. He brought his focus back to where Brock had finished his set and was sitting up, roaring and flexing in response to the cheers of the other men. It was impressive, really, how much the guy could actually lift. As beautiful, chiselled and rippling as Brock was though, Bucky had never once fantasised about _him_ pressing Bucky against the wall. He’d probably get called a ‘fuckin queer’ if he ever tried anything with that man anyway. Not that Bucky was being judgemental and unfair, but Brock seemed the type. As he did almost every week, Bucky felt that he didn’t belong with this group of assholes. He’d fallen into the routine of working out with them kind of by default, and hadn’t managed to change that routine despite sometimes being bored to tears. He could never quite face the prospect of distancing himself from the group, though, and working out by himself. It was nice to have people to hang around with, people he could kid made up for his lack of social life outside of work. No, he was better off where he was at, inside the safety of a group of guys who always had his back in the gym and would prove a good distraction on an otherwise-quiet Saturday afternoon. 

After about forty minutes of resolutely _not staring_ at the new guy as he made his way around the gym while he tried to use the weight machines with the guys, Bucky saw him coming towards the group. The strangers’ face was now flushed and he was breathing a little heavily, a little wheeze coming out on every exhale. Bucky frowned, half listening to that wheeze. It didn’t sound entirely healthy. Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky saw the guy sit down at the chest-press machine next to him and start fiddling with the weights, putting on only a fraction of that which Bucky himself had lifted. Face still set, the new guy settled into the seat, grasped the handles, and started on his first chest compression. 

Bucky flushed redder than was strictly necessary considering how little he was actually lifting at that moment when the new guy started to pant heavily and grunt after only a few reps. Those little low sounds coming out of the other guy, _oh fuck_ they should not have been that erotic but Bucky was having trouble remembering that he was supposed to be keeping up with the rest of the group as they worked the machines together. If Bucky paid a little more attention to the new guy’s huffs and imagined a different situation in which those noises would come out of his mouth, no-one had to know. 

All at once, the breathing noises changed, became desperate and ragged. Bucky whipped his head around to where New Guy had stopped working out and was clutching his chest, face uncomfortably red and right hand fumbling in his pocket. He pulled out an honest-to-God _asthma inhaler_ but dropped it under the machine before he could take a puff. Bucky stood up, not thinking of anything else as he darted over to the new guy and bent, his longer arms reaching the dropped inhaler easily. He held it out to New Guy and watched with concern as he was finally able to take several puffs and hold them, eyes closed. When he finally exhaled and looked up at Bucky, New Guys’ face was a little less red and his blue eyes were shy.

‘Thanks man, thought I was going to have to crawl under there for a second.’

New guy’s voice was deeper than expected, rich and warm but still with a slightly breathless undertone. It was, Bucky thought, a damn attractive voice. Mentally chiding himself for thinking that about a guy who’d just had an asthma attack in front of his eyes, Bucky anxiously asked,

‘Are you ok pal, do you need help?’

The new guy blushed and looked down.

‘I’m fine, thanks. Nothing I haven’t dealt with a thousand times before, I swear.’

‘Oh ok then, just wanted to make sure…’

Bucky knew he sounded like an idiot and maybe now _wasn’t_ the best time to start flirting but this guy was just staring up at him with those baby blues and _smiling like an angel_ and waiting for him to finish stumbling over his words. Bucky was just speaking random words now and _hoping to God_ he wasn’t going to be too tongue-tied because that smile, good grief it was beautiful, sincere and a little shy, and completely perfect.

Silence stretched out for a beat longer than was normal. Bucky was aware that he was still staring.  


‘Uh, well good to see that you’re ok, I’m Bucky by the way, uh, it’s nice to um, nice that you’re, y’know, ok now, that’s great.’

_Smooth, Barnes._

The new guy opened his mouth to reply, but –  
‘Barnes! What the hell man you’re supposed to be spotting for Jack!’  
Shit, that was Brock. Bucky hadn’t meant to lose focus on the group but this guy had been _smiling at him_ and _having an actual asthma attack_ and fuck, Bucky wasn’t heartless enough to leave a fella to fumble for an inhaler that he himself could easily reach.  


Oh shit, Brock was coming over.

Bucky could only imagine how much big, brusque Brock would look down on this little new man with his inhaler still clutched in one hand.

Oh shit, Brock was opening his mouth.

‘Holy shit man are you having an asthma attack? Shouldn’t you, like, not be working out if you can’t control your lungs?’ Brock laughed. ‘No offense man but you might wanna look into something a little less heavy if you’re gonna be doing that.’

‘Brock!’ Bucky hissed, anger colouring his cheeks. Brock had said his fair share of inappropriate things over the years but this was downright _rude._  


New Guy’s smile vanished and his face hardened. He raised one eyebrow and glared straight at Brock.

‘Excuse me? That’s really none of your business is it?’ His tone was icy and challenging.

Brock huffed a laugh, a loud and stupid one, thought Bucky, considering that the New Guy was standing up and seemed to be actually trying to stare down Brock, who had easily a foot in height and a hundred pounds in his favour should things get aggressive. Bucky couldn’t help but feel a tiny wave of affection for this tiny scrapper. About time someone stood up to Brock, even if he was about to get steamrolled.

‘Wow man, no offense, right? Just came over here to see where my buddy gotten to’ Brock clapped a hand on Bucky’s cringing shoulder ‘and thought you might want help if you’re sick or something, little guy like you looks like you need all the help you can get, jeez-’

‘I’m not sick! I’m perfectly fine! And I am not a _little guy!_ ’

‘Jeez ok no need to be so touchy, man! We’re just having a laugh right?’

‘Well I don’t think it’s fucking funny alright? Now if you and your _buddy_ will excuse me, I need to get going.’ New Guy turned and stalked off towards the changing rooms, after glaring at both Brock _and_ Bucky as though they’d just killed his cat.

All of a sudden Bucky couldn’t stand Brock’s hand on his shoulder, his dismissive snort at the new guy’s retreating back. He knew he shouldn’t rock the boat, but –  


‘No need to be such a dick about it Brock, the guy was just trying to calm down from an attack.’ Bucky shrugged Brock’s hand off his shoulder and hurried after the New Guy, for some reason not wanting to be thought badly of by this tiny, brave, attractive spitfire.

He dashed into the changing rooms just as New Guy looked to be retrieving a beat-up bag from a locker. What did Bucky think he was doing? Asked a cynical little voice in his head. He needed to leave it alone. So what if New Guy got butthurt? Still, though, the way he’d looked at Bucky as he left made something uncomfortably like guilt coil inside him.  


‘Wait! I’m really sorry about Brock, he doesn’t always use his brains. Really, what he said wasn’t ok, and please, don’t feel like you need to leave here because of him.’

New Guy glared at Bucky for a long moment, backpack held defensively in front of him as though it would shield him from assholes like Brock.  
‘If you think his behaviour was unacceptable, maybe you should be having this conversation with him, instead of with me.’ The hard anger and disappointment was clear in New Guy’s voice. Bucky looked away.

‘Yeah I wouldn’t expect him to apologise any time soon though. Brock’s not the most self-aware of people.’

New Guy narrowed his eyes at Bucky, not returning his smile.

‘I get the feeling you’ve had to apologise for your friends’ behaviour a few times before.’

‘You have no idea, pal. And he’d not even really my friend.’

‘Certainly doesn’t seem like much of a friend if you have to keep apologisin’ for him everywhere you go now does he? Maybe next time your _buddy_ decides to _pick on_ someone you’ll have the guts to tell him that to his face and not have to have this shit-show of a conversation again.’  
With that, New Guy slammed his locker shut and calmly walked out of the doors into the lobby, leaving Bucky feeling about two inches tall.

He bit his lip and sighed. He really didn’t feel like going back into the gym and finishing his workout with those guys, and his arm was still aching a bit anyway. _Fuck it. I’ll make up the time next week._ He needed to get the hell out of there, felt suddenly sick and fed up with himself. The New Guy was right, he really should have said something when Brock made fun of the smaller man. Why was that so hard? Shaking his head, Bucky slowly gathered his towel from his own locker and sloped off to the showers, still feeling vaguely unsatisfied with the thought of the new guy feeling disappointed in him.


	2. The First Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are first impressions, second impressions, an attempt at redemption and Bucky Barnes indulging his love affair with caffeine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter.

Monday morning rolled around, and Bucky had to go into work again. Why did Monday always come around so soon, one Monday every seven days was too many Mondays, in Bucky’s opinion. Then again, Tuesdays weren’t much better and let’s not even get started on Wednesdays. Thursdays now, Thursdays could be acceptable, he thought to himself as he rolled out of bed and into the shower. Why couldn’t it be Thursday already? 

Bucky worked as a senior editor at _Marvel_ magazine, a literary and arts journal that published monthly. He had started there as an intern after college, not expecting to stay longer than it took to get a recommendation, but had surprised himself and everyone around him by loving it, and staying. He had moved into editing the poetry section a few years ago, a job he adored back then because it allowed him to spend his days surrounded by words, beautiful, bold, incendiary words that could make him blush and stutter and _feel things._ Nowadays, though, when more often than not his world was grey tinged with black, he just felt bored. He’d suffered through enough bad writing to sink a ship, and constant exposure to the world of literary agents and precocious ‘stars’ had left him jaded and bitter. He didn’t have to admit it to anyone else but the right words still had the power to move him deeply, although these days the ‘right words’ seldom crossed his desk.

Bucky had spent a long time in his life denying parts of himself that his younger self had been unable to fit into his family’s view of him – his love of poetry, enthusiasm for dancing and, of course, his sexuality, and although he had come to terms with all those things now, no-one else needed to know how deep those passions ran in him. Hell, no-one needed to care. It wasn’t as though he had anyone in his life to care. That was cynicism, he knew, but well, cynicism was so easy in the face of a world that confirmed all your suspicions about what utter shits other people were, every single day.

As he scrubbed himself in the shower, Bucky tried to get his thoughts in order. He knew that, like most Mondays, today would consist of meetings, deadlines and trying not to use his red pen _too_ liberally when he came across a particularly bad poetry submission. This month, _Marvel_ had opened submissions for its quarterly poetry contest along the theme of _The Expanded Universe,_ and it had been Bucky’s job to read all the entries. There had been _thousands_ so far, so many in fact that he’d whined to his boss, Nick, just last week about hiring extra help, if only to have someone else with whom to giggle at the more terrible ones with. _Jesus,_ if he had to read one more terrible erotic poem or awkward ‘arty’ haiku written by some first-year lit student who thought they were God’s gift to the written word, he’d just about go insane. 

Once out of the shower, Bucky dressed quickly, taking care over his clothes choices as always. That was another thing he was comfortable with about himself these days, being the kind of guy who put effort into the way he looked. He chose a slim-fitting grey pinstripe suit with a soft light blue shirt underneath, and brown shoes. He smoothed back his collar-length hair and tied it away in a neat bun at the nape of his neck, trying to get his shirt cuffs even. His office didn’t insist on formal dress, but Bucky knew the value of feeling good about the way you looked. He’d spent _far_ too long after the accident hating himself, and it hadn’t helped his mental state any. Although he liked to think he was mostly out of the woods with regards to the dark, depressive periods of his life, it didn’t hurt to remind himself that he was his own man, and he’d damn well wear what made him feel good. If anyone else wanted to comment on that, well fuck them very much. 

Bucky went through the rituals of coffee, cigarettes and breakfast with all the mechanistic automation of a man who wouldn’t be truly awake until after his third coffee. He stopped for Starbucks on his way to work and arrived half-way through his ridiculous venti caramel macchiato with extra whip, feeling slightly more awake. Stark Tower, the high-rise in which his magazines’ offices occupied the forty-first floor, was one of the most imposing buildings in New York. It was a steel-and-glass masterpiece that had taken almost two years to build, and was a testament to the wealth of its owner, Tony Stark, who had funded it from his private fortune. Bucky thought it was ugly as shit. 

Crossing the building lobby, he squished into the elevator with about a dozen more people than he’d hoped to be sharing his personal space with, and stood in awkward silence as they ascended. Bucky counted it as a victory when he reached his floor without anyone bumping into him and spilling his precious, precious coffee. As poetry editor, he had an office to himself, set back at the end of a long corridor behind ‘the pit,’ the open-plan cubicle space in which the sub-editors, journalists and writers worked. Bucky poured himself into his chair, booting up his laptop with a practiced flick of his fingers. 

Aaah, Mondays. They weren’t so bad, seen from the other side of your fourth coffee, he had to admit. His mail in-tray wasn’t that full and his email inbox, which he’d been studiously ignoring all weekend, was actually pretty manageable. Of course, there were almost thirty-five new poetry submissions to go through _al-fucking-ready,_ both physical copies and emails, but hey, maybe today would be the day he would finally be surprised and would find a hidden gem. _Not very fucking likely._ He had just time to finish off his coffee with a regretful sigh before the Monday morning briefing started. He could not be late for that. Nick Fury, the editor-in-chief of _Marvel_ magazine, was a notoriously terrifying boss and an absolute stickler for timekeeping. _Not that good time-keeping really said anything about a person, or anything._

Bucky found himself tuning out most of the meeting, only briefly paying attention when asked to say a few words on the poetry competition. As he stood up afterwards to head back to his desk, a small hand on his arm stopped him. 

‘Hey Barnes, don’t you want to meet him?’ It was Darcy, who worked in the admin and HR department. She was wearing a tight-fitting black dress, brown leather boots and a suspiciously delighted grin.

‘Huh? Meet who?’ Bucky replied intelligently.

‘Your new assistant dumbass,’ she replied. Her grin stretched even wider. ‘Or weren’t you paying attention, again?’

Bucky looked sheepishly at her. 

‘I knew it! Aren’t you glad you’ve got me here?’

‘You’re a peach of a woman Darcy, a real doll like I’m always telling ya.’ Bucky replied with a wink. His flirtatious relationship with Darcy had been the subject of much office gossip but Bucky knew that Darcy was one of the only people who knew him well enough to hear the sarcasm in his voice. Despite it being common knowledge that Bucky’s tasted tended towards the more masculine end of the spectrum, office gossip was always ripe with speculation about the two of them. 

‘Yes I am Bucky, I really am. Anyway, to catch you up, Nick heard you whining last week about having to sift through mountains of shitty submissions, so he’s given you an assistant. Temporary thing, guy’s just finished an internship in the art department, and he’s looking at a permanent job there when Howard retires, but that won’t be for another month. Nick thought that you might like him in the meantime, you know, to give you a little relief, as it were. You’ve got him for the next month.’

_My prayers have been answered._

‘Man, I was properly zoned out if I missed all that! Ok well, where is this kid then?’

‘Not a kid, Barnes, in fact I think he’s right up your alley.’ 

_Oh no._ Darcy was trying to set him up with some poor innocent intern.

Darcy pointed over Bucky’s shoulder to a desk on the far side of the pit. Bucky could just see the back of a blond head over the cubicle divider.

_Oh no._

It was the new guy from the gym. 

 

Bucky’s brain froze. Shit, this was awkward. Darcy’s smirk widened when she saw Bucky’s face.

‘I _told you_ you’d like him, he’s practically your wet dream!’ she crowed. 

‘Oh my God Darcy shut up, he’ll hear you!’

‘No he won’t, stop worrying Barnes.’

‘Darcy, tell me honestly, did you pick him out because you think he’s my type?’

‘Nah man, I didn’t pick him out at all. I told you, Nick wants to hire him to work with Carter when Howard retires next month but there’s no work for him before then. You just got lucky.’

‘So I’m left babysitting the intern?’ Bucky replied weakly. This fucking guy.

Darcy snorted and walked over, pulling him along with her relentlessly. 

‘Come on!’ she said, ‘don’t you wanna meet your cute new assistant?’

Bucky couldn’t help but let himself be pulled along to the cubicle at the end of the pit where the new guy sat, fidgeting on his chair and looking a little cowed. The pit could be a noisy, busy place at the best of times. Bucky snuck a good look at him in the moment before he was seen. 

The New Guy (Bucky _had_ to stop calling him that) was, in fact, something very close to being exactly Bucky’s type, now that he got a moment to admire. His dark blond hair was parted neatly on one side, looking soft and fine and perfect for stroking your fingers through ( _for fucks sake be a professional!_ ). The top half of his thin face was almost covered by a pair of thick-framed glasses but his plump pink lips looked the same as they had done on the weekend, like ripe fruit waiting to be plucked. He was wearing a white button-down shirt open a little at the collar, exposing an inch of sharp collarbone. Rolled-up shirtsleeves revealed precise black tattoos that Bucky hadn’t noticed before. They looked to be a geometric design, intersecting lines and sharp angles. The hem of his crisp white shirt was tucked into a pair of tight-fitting slacks and he had dusty blue braces holding them up, although whether they were for show or actually helped, Bucky couldn’t say. New Guy looked like the picture of what Bucky would expect an art intern to look like. He was also objectively gorgeous, perhaps the most gorgeous man Bucky had ever seen. He thought back to the scene at the gym, starting to sweat a little. The thought of that determined, beautiful little spitfire being his assistant for the next month was enough to make him nervous. Why did he always have to get sweaty around beautiful people? He was probably the least smooth-talker on the entire planet, so why of all people did the universe decide to deliver this gorgeous human into his lap? 

_Oh God DO NOT think about New Guy in your lap, don’t think about it, don’t think of his lips OH GOD think about something else, anything else, think about the most un-sexual thing you possibly can, crowded subway trains, baseball, Donald Trump eating anchovies while wearing Crocs. Yeah, ok, you’ve got this._

Darcy, of course, was being about as subtle as a half-brick to the face, smirking wildly as she introduced them. 

‘Steve, this is James Barnes, the editor you’ll be working with for the next month. Barnes, this is your new assistant, Steve Rogers, from the art department.’

Bucky stuck out his hand. If he couldn’t be smooth, he could at least be professional.

‘Hello, um, again. Call me Bucky.’

New Guy – _Steve Rogers_ – took his hand and shook it, looking warily at Bucky. Was Steve blushing?

‘Bucky? Good to meet you. Again.’ Oh God, Bucky had forgotten his stupidly attractive voice, which was making his temperature raise just a little despite the cold formality of New Guys – Steve’s – tone. 

Darcy’s eyebrows raised so high they were in danger of going into orbit.

‘Again?’

Bucky cleared his throat meaningfully. He wasn’t going to explain if Steve wasn’t. Darcy seemed to get the hint and smiled, claiming that she had a lot of work to do, and left.  
_Subtle, Darce,_ he thought at her retreating back. He turned to stare at Steve once more, who was now looking a little nervous, adjusting his ridiculous hipster glasses and kicking his foot along the floor. Steve was definitely blushing now, the contrast of his hot embarrassed cheeks and his cold attitude making Bucky feel supremely nervous.

‘Well. Small world, huh?’

Steve looked up at him, still wary, trying to decide if he was being laughed at.

‘Yeah, the guy who you meet at the gym on Saturday turns out to be your new boss on Monday. Small, hilarious world.’ Steve said, self-mockery evident in his tone. Ah, so Steve was embarrassed then. 

Trying hard to put Steve at his ease – he wasn’t enough of an asshole to hold Saturday’s meeting against this guy – Bucky tried for what he hoped was a disarming smile. 

‘The past is a foreign country, Steve, and there’s no better way to forget it than to dive into a mountain of awful poetry. Makes all other awful things in your life seem better in comparison.’ Bucky kept his tone light and joking, kept the smile on his face.

Steve seemed to be scrutinising him. he stood up out of his chair, drawing himself up to his full height and still managing to only just come up to Bucky’s chin. Steve huffed out a sigh and seemed to relax. Biting his bottom lip – _OH GOD don’t think about that_ – Steve seemed to sag a little.

‘Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot on Saturday. I know I can be a little prickly, I’m sorry, I’m not really an asshole.’

Bucky stared. Whatever he was expecting from Steve, it wasn’t a sincere, open apology straight off the bat. He didn’t really know how to deal with someone who didn’t have an ego the size of Manhattan. Nerves settled in his stomach as he realised that this guy was _actually being sincere_ with him and not a bitter, snarky bastard like Bucky would have been if their positions were reversed. 

‘I don’t think you’re an asshole.’ Bucky couldn’t think of another thing to say.

‘I stand by what I said though,’ started Steve with a small frown, before he caught Bucky’s teasing grin and stopped. ‘But – you don’t have to worry about me. Unlike some people, I know when to keep my opinions to myself.’ He glared harder for a second, then seemed to catch himself and dialled down the aggression. ‘Sorry. I meant that – I can be a professional.’

Bucky threw his head back and laughed despite the nerves that still circled his belly. He hadn’t met someone this disarming and fiery in a long time. It was refreshing and not a little endearing. Steve looked nonplussed, and glared a little harder. Bucky gestured towards his own office, motioning for Steve to follow him. 

‘Come on, I want to introduce you to some _terrible_ poets before you need a crane to extract you from that hole you’re digging.’ _Stop with the snark, Barnes!_

Steve blushed again – when had that become cute? – and followed him silently. 

 

Redemption – that’s what this was, or what it could be if he let it. This was a chance to redeem himself in Steve’s eyes and convince him that Bucky was not, in fact, an asshole. He only had one month to do it, but Bucky remembered how awful he’d felt about himself after not intervening when Brock gave Steve a hard time about his asthma, and was determined to try. At the very least, he could make Steve’s time as his assistant a not-entirely-horrible experience. 

Despite being sprung upon him, it turned out that Steve was a godsend. Although his interests definitely stood firmly in art and not literature, he was at least able to pick out the good from the bad, and separating out the bulk of the poetry competition entries became his job as the week wore on. Bucky himself still had all his other editor duties to carry on with, so having Steve there to take some of the work off his shoulders felt wonderful. 

On Tuesday, after Steve complained about having to turn off his hearing aid to get any peace in the noisy pit, Bucky arranged for Steve to move into a second desk in his office. It was a little cramped in there with two desks, to be sure, but Steve had looked so damn grateful when Bucky had suggested it that he was more than prepared to put up with the incursion into his personal space. On Wednesday, Steve shyly turned up at their office with a bag of freshly-ground coffee and a fancy plunger, and had asked, stammering slightly, if Bucky wanted a cup. How could a fella say no when a cute guy brought you fancy coffee? They sipped the dark roast in comfortable silence, each man appreciating the drink in his own way.

Towards the end of the first week, Bucky was able to work up the courage to talk with Steve. He’d been putting off talking about anything apart from work in order to seem more professional than he was, but then Friday rolled around and Bucky’s work ethic started to fray at the seams. It felt as though he’d worked a full day even though it was only mid-morning. He sat back from his computer, rolling his head on his neck and staring out the window in boredom. The poems were particularly dire that morning. Across from him, Steve glanced over. 

‘Hey, Buck, I think I’ve found a winner here. Listen to this – _At the close of the door, you’re there on the floor, spread out like a whore, for me. You’ll call and I’ll listen, you’ll sweat and you’ll glisten, lungs pump like a piston, for me._ I think I can safely say that will be the worst  
thing I’ll read today, and it’s only ten thirty.’

‘Oh God, Steve, I think I’d disembowel myself with a butter knife before I willingly wrote something like that, let along sent it into a competition.’

‘The author describes his work as “A light-hearted look at modern relationships through the lens of social media in the age of the selfie.” Age of the fucking selfie? This person is clearly a dick.’

Steve was beginning to lose his wariness around Bucky, if the way he didn’t censor his language in front of him was any indication. Bucky appreciated the fun that could be had with a full and varied vocabulary, and so did Steve, apparently. That he felt relaxed enough to joke around with him was another point in his favour. 

‘Age of the selfie, good Lord that’s awful. Shove it in the shit pit and never let it see the light of day again.’ He joked. The ‘shit pit’ was the ever growing pile of rejected poems. Steve insisted on printing out everything he read, claiming that his bad eyesight made reading words on a screen difficult. The shit pit, therefore, was a literal representation of the cold dregs of what America’s self-styled wordsmiths had to offer. It was massive, overflowing the recycling bin and taking over a good portion of the floor. 

Bucky grinned. ‘Coffee break?’ he suggested.

‘Coffee break.’ Steve looked delighted. As he fumbled in his desk for the bag of beans, Bucky stood up. 

‘Come on Steve, you survived your first week of awful poetry and working with me. Let’s go get a fancy coffee. I’m buying.’

_What???_

Why had he offered to buy Steve coffee? Argh, now he was going to have to make small talk that didn’t revolve around work. Oh shit, he was going to have to make himself sound interesting and not like his life revolved around his job and his apartment. _Fuck,_ what if Steve asked him about his friends at the gym?? This was a terrible idea. Way to go, Barnes. 

Steve stood, stretching his arms above his head and exposing an inch of pale skin at the bottom of his shirt where it had come untucked. Bucky tried to look away casually, and swallowed. It was _not fucking appropriate_ to stare at your assistant, for fucks sake! 

‘Yeah, fancy coffee sounds good. You owe me anyway for making me read so many awful lines this week. You’d think that more people would understand that a limerick is actually meant to be funny but there you go. People are strange.’

‘Ha! You got that right pal, people are real fucking strange.’ 

‘So where’s good for coffee around here?’ Steve asked as he carefully pulled an oversized trench coat over his suit – the days had turned colder recently – and grabbed his wallet. ‘When I was interning over in the art department, getting coffee every day was my job. Peggy just packed me off to the nearest Starbucks, but I bet there’s loads of better places around here?’

Bucky pressed a hand over his heart, pretending to be shocked.

‘You wound me, Steven, slandering my precious Starbucks like that.’

‘Oh, I didn’t realise you were such a sell-out, Barnes.’

‘Well we can’t all be hipsters now, can we?’

Bucky worried for a moment that he’d offended Steve, but his smile was big and warm as the two men moved towards the elevator.

‘Who said anything about being a hipster? I just like to support independent local businesses.’

‘Steve, it is the height of hipsterdom to claim that you’re not a hipster while simultaneously wearing glasses like those.’ Bucky gestured to Steve’s tortoiseshell frames. 

‘Hey, jerk, I need these to see!’

‘Oh sure, I bet they were the only pair in the independent local opticians.’

Steve shoved him playfully into the elevator, laughing. Bucky shoved him right back, mindful of his height and strength but still giving as good as he got. 

The short walk to the coffee shop was spent mostly in silence. As curious as Bucky was about Steve, they weren’t friends yet, and he didn’t want to push their tentative office-sharing peace by being nosy. Just as they were about to turn into the Starbucks doorway, Steve stopped. 

‘No, I’m sorry but I can’t do it. Call me a hipster all you like, but there’s this great place about three doors down that do the best coffee, and you don’t feel like you’re selling your soul to Satan every time you hand over your money. Come on, let me show ya?’

Bucky had no choice but to follow Steve after that, taken by the shy enthusiasm in his voice. Steve’s confidence, the way he clearly knew his own mind and the way he wasn’t afraid to be himself were incredibly attractive to Bucky. He wanted to get to know more about Steve, sound out his opinions on so many matters just to hear his steady, sure voice getting louder as he became more passionate. Bucky could spend days just watching and listening to Steve talk about the things he loved. 

_Shit, that was sappy as fuck._

Bucky found himself thinking about how _different_ Steve was as he followed him further up the street. How did Steve manage to be so – happy? So openly not-cynical and so goddamn _nice?_ Steve was intelligent, witty, passionate, not to mention openly arty and creative. Steve was pretty much the exact opposite of who Bucky was as a person, wrapped up in one of the most gorgeous packages he’d ever seen. Bucky was seriously crushing on Steve after only knowing him for a week. _Shit._ That was bad. What was worse was that Steve had given no sign of crushing on him back. Steve probably wasn’t even interested in men. He probably had a girlfriend, for fucks sake. 

 

The coffee shop turned out to be a tiny hole-in-the-wall place away from the main drag. Bucky was sure that he’d walked past it many times but had never actually been in. He was almost impressed – it wasn’t often that he found a coffee place that he didn’t already know about and have rated and ranked in his head. He regarded the outside a little sceptically. It didn’t even have a name, and looked like it had seen many better days. 

An old-fashioned bell tinkled once when Steve pushed open the door. The café itself was a small, low-ceilinged single room, the walls exposed brick but covered with what looked like silk draped artfully over them. The silks were done in tones of plum, cherry and dark wine, lit softly with yellow and lavender wall-lights. The whole effect was soft and somewhat hazy, and despite knowing that it was morning outside, Bucky couldn’t help but feel a sort of twilight-fuzziness in the atmosphere. There were secluded booths along one wall, hidden from each other by dark-wood panels, and a few more wooden tables and chairs in the centre. Unobtrusive piano music filtered out of concealed speakers. It was perhaps the complete opposite of the type of trendy hipster coffee shop that Bucky had expected Steve to bring him to. He really needed to stop making so many assumptions about Steve when the guy was shattering them left, right and centre. 

Across the width of the right hand wall was the bar, long and low. A middle-aged man with dark curly hair was fiddling with a battered-looking coffee machine. Bucky’s scepticism increased as he watched. That machine didn’t look like it could make a decent shot to save its life, but – Bucky was always open to being impressed. At the sound of the bell, the guy behind the counter looked up. 

‘Steve! Good to see you again, how’s things?’

‘Hey Bruce,’ Steve replied, striding eagerly up to the counter, ‘things’re great, still at _Marvel._ ’ He grinned, obviously relaxed in a way he seldom was in the office. Bucky followed him over. Seeing Steve happy and grinning at a guy he was obviously friends with made Bucky fall for him even more, if with a tiny undercurrent of sadness that he wasn’t the one Steve was smiling at. 

‘Oh! And speaking of, this is Bu- er- this is James, he works at _Marvel_ too. He’s the editor for the poetry section.’

‘Oh, this is the guy?’ Bruce crooked an eyebrow and smiled at Bucky. Steve made a small grimace and looked away, eyes shifting to somewhere on the back wall as he struggled not to blush.

_What had Steve been saying about him?_

Bruce extended his hand to Bucky, who shook it and introduced himself. Bruce’s grip was light but not limp, as though he was not interested in testing Bucky’s strength or anything like that. Good, he thought. He hated it when people tried to pull that shit. 

‘You know, we have a spoken word open mic night here once a month. You should come by, if you’re interested in poetry. Steve could bring you along to the next one, he’s been to enough now that he knows the drill.’

Bruce winked at Steve, who blushed furiously and raised his eyebrows at Bruce in a clear _“Shut Up!”_ gesture. 

‘Woah, open mic nights? Still sure you’re not a hipster, Stevie?’

_Stevie??? What fresh hell?_

Steve only blushed harder, if that were possible. 

‘Don’t laugh at me, Buck. They’re actually really fun.’

‘I’m not laughing at you, Steve! Just surprised me, that’s all, I thought you were more into, y’know, art than words.’

‘So words can’t be art?’

Bucky felt like he’d missed a step in the conversation somewhere.

‘Well of course they are, just not many people see it that way. I mean, I think that the best way to appreciate the written word is to hear it read out loud but, um, I guess that’s not many people’s cup of tea.’ _Wow where the hell did that come from?_

Steve looked at him for a long moment, something undefinably _searching_ in those ocean-blue eyes of his. When he next spoke, it was soft and low, never breaking eye contact.

‘I guess you never know what a person’s cup of tea is… until you….’ He trailed off, then seemed to shake himself and turned finally looked away. ‘Until you take them to a coffee shop and let them actually order, instead of banging on about tea for ten minutes. Come on Buck, Bruce’s coffee is the best around.’

Bucky was sure that wasn’t how Steve had planned to end that sentence, but the moment was gone and the atmosphere in the intimate coffee shop was far milder than it had been the second before. Bucky shivered at the lingering intensity of Steve’s gaze, then turned to Bruce and ordered a latte, forgoing his usual syrup-laden sugar hit in favour of seeing exactly how good Bruce’s coffee actually was.

 

It was the best coffee Bucky had been blessed with in years. 

‘Steve, this coffee is passable, I guess.’ Bucky sighed as they walked back into the lobby of the Stark Tower, take-away cups in hand. 

Steve grinned a shit-eating grin. 

‘You love it really. Bruce has been my favourite barista for years. He owns the place with his wife Betty, some kind of mid-life crisis getaway I think. He used to be a nuclear physicist, if you can believe that, then gave it all up after some kind of breakdown to become New York’s best-kept secret and the personal enabler of my caffeinated workday. I treat myself to one of his coffees at least once a week.’

Bucky tried not to smile at Steve’s obvious pride in his friend.

‘So, open-mic night, eh?’ he asked as they snagged an elevator to themselves.

‘Oh yeah, I kinda started going with some friends but it’s no big deal. Creative expression is kinda important to me, you know, and I really enjoy seeing other people’s work.’ Steve blushed and looked down at that. ‘Don’t laugh at me.’ He said quietly.

‘Shit no, Steve, I wouldn’t laugh at you for that! Hell, I spent the last week surrounded by the rotten fruits of other people’s creativity, to the point where I forget that there’s any pleasure to be had in it. I certainly don’t think there’s anything wrong with letting yourself enjoy something. If you wanna enjoy something, then enjoy it.’ _Shit,_ why was he being so honest today? It was making him uncomfortable.

Steve looked up at him, that _searching_ look in his eyes once more. 

‘Sorry, I’m so people thinking that just because I’m small and skinny and I like art, that I’m some kinda _stereotype._ It’s not – manly, or some shit, you know?’

The elevator doors pinged and Steve moved to head back to their office, but Bucky pulled him aside for one moment. He placed his left hand on Steve’s shoulder and stooped to look into his eyes. He wanted this to stick.

‘Steve, look at me. There is nothing – _nothing_ – wrong with admitting that you like what you like. You’re obviously aware of that, you’re a smart guy, but just – I’m not gonna think any less of you for telling me what you like. Never will. Shit, I’d be a complete hypocrite if I thought anything less of a person for liking things that aren’t –’ he made a face, ‘- _manly._ Anyone who does is an idiot. If those things make you happy, Steve, then it’s ok to be happy.’

He pulled back, feeling small and confused for a moment.

It was the same advice one of his college professors had given to him, years ago, when he’d been thinking about quitting his major – literature – and going into business studies instead. The words were good, the message was sound. Even if he had to repeat it to himself every now and again, he would die with that message on his lips – _it’s ok to be happy. It’s ok to surround yourself with things that make you happy._

Steve was looking at him with shining eyes. Bucky hadn’t meant to get that deep on him, not when it was practically still first thing in the morning and they’d only known each other a week. 

‘Buck – that’s – I think that enjoying creative expression and being able to _enjoy that you’re enjoying it_ is worth more than anything. Happiness is difficult but it’s so worth it, and not everyone sees that.’

Bucky looked at Steve in wonder. That was possibly the closest anyone else had ever got to expressing that particular philosophy to him, and that sentiment… called to him. He felt something deep inside him answering that call, something that yearned for companionship and understanding, something long-buried underneath his cynical, snarky exterior. 

Steve blinked.

‘Wow that got really _real,/i > really fast. We should – I should probably get back to work. Shit pit’s not gonna fill itself.’_

_Fuck,_ Bucky thought as he followed Steve back to their office, _I’m actually emoting. When the fucking fuck did that become ok?_

If all this dangerous _emoting_ came about as a result of having Steve around, then Bucky couldn’t decide whether he wanted to hug Steve tight and never let him go, or throw Steve out of his office and scrape off his skin with steel wool until all those uncomfortable emotions sloughed off and he could get back to being his old, composed – _jaded_ – self again.

Steve showed up at the gym again on Saturday. Unsure of what the social protocol was for this sort of situation, Bucky smiled and waved but said nothing to him, focussing back on his own workout as a way to shut down the possibility of Steve coming over to talk to him. Not that he didn’t want to talk to Steve, but with Brock and the other guys around, Bucky would much rather avoid a repeat confrontation in which he’d be forced to take sides. Steve didn’t try and come over, nor did he try to initiate any more conversation when they passed each other on the way to the water cooler. In fact, Steve avoided Bucky’s eye altogether. Feeling like he might have made a mis-step was becoming second nature around Steve, but this felt… lonely. There was nothing more Bucky wanted to do than hand Steve his towel as he sweated through his T-shirt, watch his sweet little ass as he cycled on the bikes, maybe follow him into the showers and drop to his knees in front of him, but Bucky did none of those things. He concentrated only on what the group was doing, and spoke only when spoken to. If he watched Steve out of the corner of his eye and listened in case he needed his inhaler again, that was no-one’s business but his own. 


	3. The Second Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky coffee is drunk, plans are made, Steve has a Moment, and Bucky contemplates his own state of mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible warning for this chapter: some depressive thoughts. Nothing unusually bad, just a discussion of Bucky's mental state being less-than-ideal.

Bucky had spent all of his Saturday evening and most of his Sunday obsessing over whether he should have made more of an effort to talk to Steve in the gym. Part of him, admittedly a larger part than it would have been a week ago, yelled at him for being rude, for treating Steve like he didn’t want to be associated with him outside of work, when in fact that was all he wanted. To spend his Saturday with Steve, hell, to spend his whole weekend with Steve, to go to the gym _together,_ work out _together_ then maybe sneak off into the showers for some mind-blowing sex and _oh shit_ he really needed to get laid. The other part of him, meanwhile, the part that made cold, logical decisions and the part of him that was used to being listened to, reminded him that Steve was a work colleague, not a friend, and that while Steve may force himself to be civil to Bucky within work hours when they were forced to share an office, he had no obligation to do the same on the weekends. For all Bucky knew, Steve didn’t want to talk to him either. This part of his brain also argued that Bucky’s place in his loose group of gym-buddies depended on his co-operation with the other guys, that he took their encouragements when he was lifting heavy weights or having chin-up competitions with Brock, and that meant he had to be around to give encouragement to the others when they did the same. That’s what friends did, right? Even if Bucky was growing less and less sure that he _wanted_ to be friends with Brock, it would be stupid to turn his back on the one reliable social appointment he had outside of work just for a guy he’d only known a week, right? Especially since that guy had chewed him out when they first met and hadn’t fully warmed up to him yet. 

Thoughts jumbled, Bucky sat in his office chair, alone for a few more minutes before Steve arrived on Monday morning, pondering all this and more. He hadn’t had his third coffee today or his second cigarette, and consequently felt out-of-sorts. Somehow his attraction to Steve-the-person had got jumbled up with his admiration for Steve-the-spitfire and intrigue about Steve-the-not-hipster-artist and was growing into something a little more permanent than a passing crush. Like, the guy was physically attractive, sure, smoking hot even, but getting to know how Steve’s brain worked, how he liked his coffee, the way his brow creased when he read bad poetry, those things were the worthier reward. Bucky would try harder, he would keep trying to make Steve warm up to him and attempt to convince him that there was something worthwhile in Bucky, that _he_ was something worthwhile.

When Steve entered the office, however, it was under a thundercloud of a scowl, and with an accompanying black glower that stopped all attempts at conversation. Steve was angry at him, he knew it, how could he have been so stupid? Of course, Steve valued bravery and honesty, and Bucky had been neither brave nor honest when he’d turned away from Steve in the gym. Of course Steve hated him now. Of course. Steve pushed his chair out, threw himself down into it, sighed, and drove the heels of his hands into his eyes.

‘Dontcha just hate Mondays?’ he asked.

Surprised that Steve was even talking to him, Bucky couldn’t answer for a second too long. Steve looked over at him. ‘Hate Mondays so much you can’t even speak? That’s hardcore Monday-hatred. I salute you.’

Was that – was Steve – joking with him?

Bucky was struck dumb with astonishment, sure he was staring at Steve like Steve had two heads. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. It took time for his jumbled, Monday-morning brain to sort out that Steve wasn’t acting like he hated him, that Steve had talked to him and was no doubt expecting a reply. Bucky shook himself after a long moment and blinked to clear his eyes, but by the time he focussed back on Steve, the other man had stood up with a muttered ‘never mind’ and was tugging off his olive-green coat. 

The moment was gone, the conversation dead in the water. He had missed his chance to pick up the easy conversation of the week before and now this one had lapsed into an awkward silence. Stiffly, Bucky reached out and took a sheaf of papers off his desk, pretending to be absorbed in mock-ups of next month’s editorials while he got his shit together. Steve had come into the office intending to be professional, and Bucky had made it awkward by staring at him and remaining totally silent. Giving him the brush-off twice in three days, way to show the guy how you feel, Barnes. 

The rest of the day was spent with minimal conversation. Bucky gave Steve’s desk a wide berth whenever he had to walk past it to get out the door. Steve did not offer Bucky any of his coffee. The strained atmosphere had them both rushing out the door the second the workday ended, Bucky chickening out and taking the stairs to avoid standing in the same elevator as Steve.

On Tuesday, Steve got sick. Bucky could tell that he was sick by the way he kept discreetly sniffling into a hankie and trying not to let Bucky see that he was drinking Lemsip instead of his usual black coffee. Bucky hid the strange urge to wrap Steve up in a million blankets and feed him soup and tried for something to lighten the mood.

‘Gosh Steve, I had no idea I was sharing an office with the human snot-machine. No, don’t spare me your germs, I’m just the guy breathing the same air as you.’ _Wow just insult the guy why don’t you? Kick him when he’s down, that’s really endearing._

Steve glared at him and scraped the back of his hand across his already reddened nose. Before he could open his mouth to protest, Bucky, considering that he might have been a _little_ too harsh just then, relented. 

‘Jeez, Steve, just take the rest of the day off before you infect everyone else on this floor.’

_That_ made Steve retaliate.

‘I’m _fine,_ Bucky. People don’t pull a sickie just for a little cold. There’s no need to treat me like I’m a child.’

‘I’m treating you like I would any other colleague who’s mouth-breathing all over my shit.’ Bucky retorted, his sharp tone very real now. ‘But suit yourself. When you melt into a puddle of snot, don’t say I didn’t warn ya.’ 

Bucky went back to his work with a last glance at Steve’s stupid stubborn face. He was wearing a stupid thick, slightly too-big jumper despite the office being warm, and the way his stupid hands only just poked out of the stupid sleeves was, Bucky thought, really stupid. Or adorable. Or whatever. Not his problem if this guy refused to go home like a normal person. Bucky certainly didn’t care if he looked like he was going to fall asleep as his desk because Steve _was not his problem to worry about._ If he kept a close eye on his assistant that afternoon and mentally ran through where Steve kept his inhaler, well, that was just him being a good, _professional,_ co-worker. Besides, since being ignored at the gym over the weekend and again on Monday, Steve’s slowly-warming attitude towards Bucky had nose-dived into the deep-freeze again, and he was almost refusing to talk to him anyway. 

On Wednesday, it was worse. Steve arrived in the morning wrapped up in another adorably oversized sweater and refused to take off his bright red scarf despite Bucky offering to turn up the heating. Steve stubbornly tried to insist that he was fine, but the dark circles under his eyes betrayed how bad he really was. Steve’s eyes watered, his hands shook and his chest had started to rattle in a worryingly _wet_ kind of way. Still, if Steve said he was fine then Bucky wasn’t going to argue with the idiot. _Still not your problem._ He wasn’t Steve’s _boyfriend_ or even really his friend, or anyone to whom Steve would have to listen if Bucky expressed concern for his health. He was just Steve’s kind-of boss, and only a temporary boss at that. 

Five pm rolled around and Bucky stood, stretching his arms and trying to work the kink out of his spine. He had collected his bag and coat when he noticed Steve standing oddly still by his desk, gripping the back of his chair in one pale hand. 

‘Steve, are you ok?’ he called out.

Steve gave a little ‘umph’ sound in reply, then fainted. 

Bucky dove forwards to catch him before he hit the ground and ended up sitting on the floor himself, his lap full of cold, shaking Steve. 

‘Steve, Stevie, talk to me buddy, do I need to call an ambulance here? Steve, wake up!’ 

Bucky shook him a little, worriedly searching for his phone. Steve was limp and cold in his arms and Bucky was _freaking out_ because what if Steve was really sick? Damn it, this was his fault, he should have insisted that Steve take the day off when he saw how bad he was earlier, he should have been firmer when Steve objected, _he should have noticed_ that Steve was dead on his feet! Where was Steve’s damn inhaler? Just as he was about to dial 911, his own hands shaking now, Steve murmured and shifted in his lap.

‘Steve? Bud, are you in there?’ Bucky gently raised a hand to Steve’s forehead and brushed away the sweat-damp strands of hair that fell over his eyes. Steve looked so small and so soft, yet so undefeated and utterly beautiful.

‘Bucky… what happened?’ he asked faintly.

‘Steve, you fainted. Listen to me pal, this is important. _Do you need to go to the hospital?_ ’

‘No! No… hospitals. I’m fine, really, I feel better already.’

‘You scared me, pal. Do you need your inhaler?’

‘No I just… I’m really ok now. Just… feeling kinda… dizzy. Let me up, Buck.’ Steve’s voice was stronger now and Bucky was suddenly aware of how they must look, Steve swooned in Bucky’s arms as he cradled him on their office floor. He drew back, suddenly embarrassed that he would be caught… _worrying_ about Steve, who was as prickly as a hedgehog when he thought people were coddling him. 

Steve tried to stand, grimaced and almost fell over again. It was clear that his legs couldn’t hold him up. Bucky made a face. _Fuck it._ He’d made the mistake before of letting a sick Steve convince him he was fine, and he wasn’t going to make that same mistake again. Not when Steve was white-knuckling the desk in front him, flushed and sweaty and _still_ trying to pretend everything was fine. 

‘Nope, Steve, not good enough. Jesus pal, you look like you’re about five seconds away from collapsing again. Come on, lemme help ya pal, at least let me call you a cab to take you home.’ He picked up Steve’s bag himself and slung it over his left shoulder, tucked Steve under his right arm and steered him across the empty office floor. Steve squeaked at being manhandled, but quieted down and clung onto Bucky’s shirt, acknowledging that he probably couldn’t walk unaided at that moment but not at all happy about it. There was no one to stare as Bucky pulled an unwilling Steve across the floor with him and into the elevator. Once inside, Bucky propped Steve up against the wall, not wanting to linger if his touch was unwanted.

‘Steve, how ya feeling now huh? Why didn’t you tell me you were this sick? I’d have let you go home early.’

‘Not gonna take a day off in my _second week_ Buck, I’ve only just started. And besides, this is just more of the same shit for me. Nothing I haven't dealt with before.’

‘You can’t control when you get sick, Steve! And what do you mean, more of the same?’

‘I’ve been sick all my life, Buck. When you’re born with a million health problems like me, a shitty immune system is just one more thing, you know? At least this one’s not bad. I’ve had pneumonia three times already, that’s really not fun let me tell you.’ He stopped to hack out a cough.

‘You and me have different definitions of ‘bad,’ pal. Passing out at work seems plenty bad to me. Now, will you be ok getting home?’ Bucky said as the elevator doors opened and they moved across the lobby, Steve refusing to lean against him for the moment. Bucky was still carrying his bag.

‘Thanks Buck, but I can get by on my own.’

Bucky rested a hand on Steve’s shoulder, careful to keep his grip light.

‘I know you can, Steve. Thing is, you don’t have to. If you need my help, all you gotta do is ask.’

Steve smiled, small and rueful. It was the first smile he’d seen all week.

‘Thanks Buck, but I can take it from here. Don’t wanna get you sick, too.’

‘Steve, I have the immune system of a steel elephant, I’ll be perfectly fine. If I haven’t got sick from sharing an office with you for the last three days, I’m not about to get sick now.’

‘No – thank you, I know you mean well but – no. I’ll be fine, feeling much better now. I’ll just get a cab home and… and I’ll be fine.’

Steve was a stubborn bastard. Bucky liked that about him but also kinda wanted to punch him in the face. 

‘Ok I’ll let the hospital slide then, but you _will_ take the rest of the week off. I don’t wanna see your ugly mug around here until next Monday _at the earliest,_ and you email me if you need more time off. Don’t worry about work, I can take care of it. Get some rest, Steve, do you hear me?’

Steve looked down and grimaced. 

‘Yeah, I hear ya. I can work from home or something.’

‘Don’t you dare, Steve. I’ll hunt you down and tie you to the bed myself if I think you’re trying to work.’

_OH NO WHY DID I SAY THAT?? Why did I have to mention tying Steve to a bed Jesus fucking Christ!_

‘Ack! I mean to say –’

_Shit! Steve’s sick for shit’s sake, could you not act like a creep for one shitting moment?_

Steve barked out a short, rough laugh at that, and grinned, looking a little more like his old self.

‘Ha! So hacking up a lung really does it for you, huh Barnes?’

‘Um, well, I just meant…’

_Barnes you are a class-A embarrassment. Way to go asshole._ Accidentally hitting on a person while they were sick had got to be one of the lowest moments of his week so far.

‘I mean, fuck,’ Bucky ran a nervous hand through his hair, ‘I guess I’ll let you go be sick in peace now. Ignore me, ignore this entire conversation, forget I’m even here right now.’

‘I will do no such thing.’ At least Steve was feeling well enough to be a little shit. That was a good sign, right? 

‘Haha Steve, I’ve gotta go, get home now, err, gotta catch a train, um, yeah I gotta dash.’

Bucky turned on his heel and fled across the lobby floor and out into the evening. He only got three steps away from the door when he realised he was still carrying Steve’s bag. 

_Fuck my fucking life._

Blushing red from the tip of his face down to below his collar, Bucky walked back to Steve, keeping his eyes cast down. Silently, he held the bag out, praying that Steve couldn’t tell how awkward he was _while at the same time_ making it approximately ten thousand times more awkward by refusing to look Steve in the eye.

‘Yeah so you might need this.’

Steve blinked at Bucky, then gave a weak little laugh. ‘Smooth, Buck.’

‘At least I’ve got you smiling.’

‘Yeah, yeah you have.’

Silence for a beat.

‘Well that’s just about filled today’s quota of awkward, so I’m gonna try this again. Take care Steve, get home safe and take the rest of the week off.’

With that, Bucky strode off, feeling much smoother this time around. 

_Yeah, right._

 

 

The office was strangely quiet without Steve, despite him only having been in it for about a week. Steve’s desk, piled high with papers and with a forgotten mug of tea still on it, looked forlorn and sad to Bucky when he got to work the next morning. Sighing to himself, he washed out Steve’s mug and set it back on his desk. He transferred Steve’s ‘Unread Submissions’ folder to his own desk, tidied up the rest of Steve’s in-tray and pushed his chair back in, thinking to make it look neat like how he knew Steve things for when he came back to work. Then, unable to put it off any longer, Bucky sat at his own desk, pulled Steve’s mountain of unread submissions towards him, and started to read. 

Bucky only spent _part_ of the rest of the week feeling guilty about bailing on Steve while he was ill, thank you very much. If he’d only been a little firmer, insisted a little louder that Steve be accompanied home, then perhaps he wouldn’t feel so much like a heel. Especially since Steve didn’t show up to the gym that Saturday afternoon.

_No point in worrying about a guy too stubborn to accept that he needs a little help once in a while,_ murmured Bucky’s cynical brain, but a memory of Steve’s pale, sweaty face and the feeling of having him passed out in Bucky’s arms thrust that thought aside. 

By Saturday evening, Bucky had had enough. Although he did not want to put a name to the feelings that plagued his brain, he knew what they were. 

Worthlessness at not being able to offer Steve any real help when he collapsed. 

Guilt at not standing up to Brock and his shitty buddies at the gym.

Exhaustion from wading through a hellish week at work and taking on Steve’s workload as well as his own.

Exhaustion, of a different kind, from having to make small talk with his co-workers now that he’d got used to daily social interaction with Steve.

Frustration at not being able to share an office with someone else, even _Steve,_ for no more than five days before needing some time alone to decompress. 

Loneliness… that was a new one. Loneliness because he… because… as much as he had liked having Steve to talk to, it only served to highlight how solitary the rest of his life was. Bucky had few real friends outside of work, no living family to speak of and no active social life, if you didn’t count his weekly interactions with Brock at the gym, which he was starting not to. He told himself he preferred it this way, that other people were stupid, loud bars and crowded restaurants were stupid, that he didn’t like those places and that was why he never socialised. Once in a while, however, he could admit to himself that he _missed_ having friends, that he _wanted_ to have something to look forward to that involved other people once in a while, but that he _drove other people away_ with how wooden and bitter he could be every time he actually started talking to someone. He’d drive Steve away soon, just like all the rest. He’d snapped at Steve while the other man had been ill, ignored him at the gym because he was too scared of a possible confrontation with Brock, and no doubt been antagonising in a million other ways. He was a piece of shit and not worthy of Steve, or of anyone. 

Oh yep. Those damn feelings. 

Together they formed the maelstrom that he _would not_ let control his life any more. 

In stories, the kind of stories that his grandmother had told him when he was younger, the naming of the demon was the key to controlling it. Bucky could name this particular demon, easy. 

It had been a _fucking long time_ since he’d let himself get really down. It had been months since his last major depressive episode – because that’s what this could shape up to be – but he still remembered how to deal with things before they got out of hand. This wasn't full-blown depressive spiral yet, but it easily could be. For tonight, he’d be kind to himself. He’d run a bath, read a good book and tuck himself into bed with the special expensive chocolates that he kept just for these occasions. Despite his pining for Steve and his confusion about his own feelings, Bucky Barnes had been through a lot worse. _A lot worse._ Recovery from the car accident that had permanently damaged his left arm and almost taken his life was an ongoing process, both physical and mental, but he was certainly in a better place now than he had been in years. He’d been able to stop visiting his therapist unless he specifically thought he needed it, and had mostly stopped the physical therapy appointments. In the privacy of his own head, he tried his hardest to keep an even keel and steady his ship against all squalls, and being aware of his own mental state at all times was a big part of that. As soon as he named the demon, he ran into his bathroom and ran a hot bath. Digging under his sink, he produced a bottle of creamy peach-coloured bath lotion and ran a handful of it into the bath. Soon, the room smelled beautifully of lavender and oranges and mint and heat. Bucky turned off his phone, grabbed his book of European folk tales, the one he always sought when his mood got like this, and proceeded to take care of himself. He let the warm water and lotion soak him clean, as stories of faraway lands and extraordinary adventures filled his imagination. He would be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self-care is so important, everyone. I know you all know that already, but sometimes I need to remind myself. Writing, and reading, a Bucky who has gone through some shit and come out the other side and can take care of himself and admit when he needs care is so important to me. Hence the self-care scene. I hope you don't think it slows down the plot too much, I just really needed to write it. And besides, Steve could learn a thing or two from Bucky about this, amiright?


	4. The Third Week (part one)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are questions, and there are answers. Conversations are had, the boys grow a little closer, and coffee is, of course, consumed in unreasonably high quantities. More of the usual pining, angst, and Darcy being the only one who can see how much these idiots want each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are no warnings for this chapter. 
> 
> Sorry this is a short chapter but don't worry, there's more written out so you won't have to wait long for the next update.

Monday morning, the third week of Steve’s month-long stay in Bucky’s office. Bucky was resolutely _not surprised_ when Steve showed up early, throwing himself into his work as though determined to show Bucky how healthy he was. Strangely, Bucky found this endearing instead of obnoxious. He wasn’t sure whether his softer feelings on this matter were due to relief that Steve was alright, or whether it was just that it was _Steve_ who was doing it. 

Steve Rogers was going to be the death of Bucky Barnes. Not content with showing up early, sharing his delicious coffee and being good at his job, but in what he assumed was a cruel joke by the universe, Steve was wearing an actual _three piece suit_ today. His charcoal-grey suit jacket was draped carelessly over the back of his chair, slim legs crossed at the ankle as he leaned forward to type. Bucky tried not to let his eyes linger at how well Steve’s waistcoat showed off his lithe figure, or how the rolled-up sleeves of his light-blue shirt showed off a tempting glimpse of his tattoos. Bucky longed to see how far up his body those tattoos extended. He imagined a tattooed chest, dark ink against creamy-pink skin. Would those ink lines move when Steve moved? Would they wrap around his body like a possessive lover? Would they circle his chest and wriggle down his back, over muscles and down past his belly, down past the hem of his pants and further…

Bucky shook himself away from those kind of thoughts. Fantasising about a co-worker? When said co-worker was right in front of him, working innocently away and blissfully unaware of the fantasy? That was pretty low. 

Steve just needed to stop being so damn attractive and let Bucky get some peace that was all.  
Steve, somehow aware that he was being watched like a creeper, turned to stare at Bucky. 

‘I got something on my face, or what?’

‘Sorry, I was just… zoned out there for a second. Trying to think of creative ways to tell literary agents that their clients have the talent of a leather boot when it comes to writing poetry. Just… staring into space, I guess.’

‘Huh. Maybe it’s time for another coffee break then?’ Steve smiled. 

It was a pleasant break to the monotony of office work to walk over to Bruce’s place and get coffee, although they didn’t do it every day. Bucky had stayed away from the place while Steve was ill, somehow not wanting to go to _their_ place on his own. Having tasted Bruce’s coffee, Bucky could happily admit that he wasn’t going back to Starbucks, so he and Steve had decided to become regular customers. The walk to Bruce’s place was short, but bitingly cold, the weather having taken a turn for the worse. Once inside and divested of his wrappings, Bucky paid for his own latte and Steve’s black drip coffee, and the two of them took what he thought of as their usual seat, a small booth near the back with a good view of the counter. Betty, Bruce’s pregnant wife, was manning the shop today. Betty was a lovely woman, flowing dark hair and a tall, graceful way of moving. She and Bruce made the picture of domestic happiness as Bruce hugged her from behind, placing both hands over her stomach and nuzzling into her neck. It was enough to make him smile – sick! It was enough to make him sick! He shuddered, catching himself… emoting again. Maybe though, he thought as he actually did smile, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. 

‘What’s got you smiling all of a sudden?’ asked Steve, with a quirk of his brow and an answering smile of his own. 

_Damn, caught out._ This was why all emoting should be done in a sterile, people-free environment because now he was going to have to explain himself.

‘Just… they look so happy, that’s all.’ Bucky nodded to the counter where Bruce and Betty were now smiling softly at each other, Betty’s hands resting over Bruce’s. 

Steve’s eyebrows dropped into a frown.

‘Is that sarcasm, Barnes?’

‘No! Sometimes I have feelings, Rogers.’

Steve snorted. ‘Coulda fooled me.’

Bucky stopped short. Somehow, he was ok with the rest of the world thinking he was a cynical bastard but the mere idea of _Steve_ thinking that was abhorrent because Steve was so… Steve was so. Yep, that made no sense, but Steve was so and Bucky liked it. He wasn’t ready to admit how important Steve’s good opinion was to him, but he was beginning to get a sense of how much he didn’t want to disappoint him.

‘Steve, I may be a shitty person most of the time but – I am not 100 % a dick.’

‘I don’t think you’re a shitty person, Bucky.’ Steve murmured, almost too quiet for him to hear. 

‘You’d be about the only one!’ Oh God he had not intended to turn this into the Bucky Barnes Pity Party.

Steve glared up at him, blue eyes sparking with anger. ‘Don’t say that! There are loads of people in the office who like you. What about Darcy? She likes you, doesn’t shut up about you. What about Natasha? What about m- ah, what about Peggy?’

‘Peggy? Carter? She terrifies me man, I definitely don’t want to be on her bad side.’

‘Eh, her bark’s worse than her bite.’

‘Bet her bite’s poisonous.’

Bucky grinned at Steve, who flashed back a soft smile, almost shy. 

‘Seriously Steve, thanks for coming out to bat for me pal, but it’s ok. Honestly, I don’t like people very much. I’m perfectly fine as I am.’ _No I’m not._ ‘I choose to keep most people at arm’s length and I’m ok with that.’ _If I knew how to make friends these days, that’s exactly what I’d do._

Oh fuck, he was pathetic and lonely and he would never get a date. 

‘Oh. Ok Buck. Seems like… seems like you’ve got everything worked out then.’

‘No-one has everything worked out at our age.’

‘No shit Buck, I think that the very idea of “having everything worked out” is just one of those lies that people on TV tell us.’

‘Why would anyone on TV lie to the public Steve?’

‘Cos they’re damn dirty liars, Buck.’

‘Oooh cynicism from the young artist. Unexpected, Steve!’

‘Ha! Hope you don’t think you’ve got the monopoly on that?’

‘Nice to know I’m not the only bitter, twisted heart-of-stone stereotype out there.’

They were both grinning now and _dammit_ Steve was making it harder for Bucky to maintain his careful world-weary façade. 

‘At least you’re not the arty stereotype!’

‘Well, Steve, not like you walk around wearing paint-splattered overalls and gesturing with paintbrushes and trying to “capture the moment” and all that.’

Steve laughed at that. Shit he had a nice laugh.

‘Scary how many of my friends can be described like that, actually?’

‘But you’re _not like those other stereotypes,_ right? You’re a stereotype all on your own?’

‘I was a stereotype before it was cool!’

Now it was Bucky’s turn to laugh, long and loud and so hard he had to put down his coffee or risk losing it down his shirt. When he looked back at Steve, he thought he saw the other man’s eyes linger on his face for a moment.

_Surely not. Right?_

‘Who told you that you were cool, huh?’

‘Oh fuck you buddy I am very cool.’

‘But is it cool to be cool?’

‘Inception!’

‘What? Steve that makes literally no sense.’

‘It does! You’re just not cool enough to realise that.’

Bucky giggled. ‘I haven’t been cool for a long time, Steve. I think I was about nine years old the last time, I had a Pokémon watch and everyone else in my class was jealous.’

‘I bet you were adorable as a kid.’

_Wait, what?_

I am not adorable! I am manly and tough.’

‘Hey now, I said you were an adorable kid not an adorable adult! Don’t give yourself too much credit.’

Steve sounded indignant but his eyes were laughing, warm and soft. With his body relaxed into his side of the booth, face open and happy, Bucky didn’t think he’d ever been more attracted to him. 

‘But I am adorable! I’m the most adorable walking stereotype in New York!’

Steve – _blushed?  
Surely… not?_

Looking sharply across the coffee table at Steve, Bucky was inadvertently caught in the other man’s magnetic stare. For a long, sticky moment, neither looked away, and Bucky felt his face heating up to match Steve’s vivid blush.

Bucky had to say something, he _had to._ It was now or never. He was going to do it, he was going to ask Steve out, consequences be damned.

‘Stevie –’

‘Buck, I-’

They had both spoken at the same time, and like some terrible parody of a romantic comedy, they had both stalled in confusion.

‘Ack, sorry Steve, you, um, sorry what were you going to say?’

‘Oh… I was just gonna say, um -’ Steve trailed off, took a deep breath and shook his head, looked up at Bucky with something confusingly sharp in his eyes. ‘Just that we should probably be getting back to the office. I’ve… got a lot of work to do.’

Yeah, that was about right. 

Steve wasn’t someone he could have. Steve was warming up to him, actually becoming Bucky’s friend, and Bucky could not screw this up. He _couldn’t._

Bucky would keep his mouth shut and Steve would see out the next two weeks before leaving to go to the art department and then Bucky would just… carry on. No harm no foul, just life being life. 

‘Yeah, yeak ok pal. Can’t have you pining for the shit pit now.’ It was a weak sentence, barely hiding how drained Bucky suddenly felt. All the sparking energy of the previous conversation had fled, replaced by grey numbness. 

 

~~~~~~~~

‘Bucky! Hey, Bucky!’

That could only be Darcy, yelling down the hallway at his back. Yep, definitely Darcy the Human Foghorn, stomping towards him in her lime green dress, waving frantically to get him to wait up.

‘Did I hear your dulcet tones, Darcy my dear?’

‘Buckster! It’s Clint’s birthday on Friday and we’re going out for drinks. Be there or be square, loser!’ Darcy actually fired finger guns at him.

‘Clint….. remind me who Clint is again?’

‘Clint! You know Clint, the night guard?’

Bucky wrinkled his nose in confusion. ‘The guy with the broken nose?’

‘Yeah, that’s the one. I’m surprised you two don’t know each other actually, he’s about as big a coffee addict as you are.’

‘Us coffee addicts are lone animals, Darcy. We defend our beans to the death.’

‘Whatever, loser. Just be free on Friday after work. Your toy-boy’s gonna be there.’

‘My what?’

‘You know, your future husband who I so nobly set you up with?’

‘Who, Steve? Darcy, we aren’t like that.’

‘I mean, not _yet,_ but that’s why this Friday is the perfect opportunity. Come out, have a few drinks, chat to the guy, then jump his bones the second you two get alone.’

_BRAIN, NO!_

‘Hate to break it to ya, Darce, but Steve and I have spent nearly three weeks alone in my office, and no bones have been jumped. If something was gonna happen, it would have happened by now.’ 

_As if anything was gonna happen._

‘You just aren’t trying hard enough.’ Darcy sighed. ‘You’re doing that thing again.’

‘What thing is that, exactly?’

‘That thing where you convince yourself that nothing has happened because the other person doesn’t want it to when in reality it’s you that doesn’t act on your feelings.’

‘Darcy, Steve is my co-worker. It would be deeply inappropriate for me to make a move on  
him while I’m technically his boss. Besides, he’s probably straight.’

‘Sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself of that. You will come out with us on Friday and _you will_ have a good time and _you will_ talk to Steve. Don’t be a chickenshit, come out and interact with real people for once and see what happens.’

Bucky sighed. He wasn’t getting out of this one easily. 

‘Ok ok, I’ll… I’ll show up.’

Bucky turned to leave, then a suspicious thought popped into his brain. He turned back to Darcy.

‘Why are you trying so hard to set me up with him Darcy? You got money on this or something?’

Darcy reached out to touch his shoulder, widening her eyes a little and tilting her head to the side just a hair. ‘I just really want to see you happy, man.’ She looked away.

‘Hah! That’s bullcrap Darcy, I knew it! You can’t lie to me, I know all about your scam now!’

Darcy huffed. ‘Well it’s not a bet exactly. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but you’re kind of grumpy, like all the fricking time, and Steve is a human ray of sunshine. You’ve been slightly less of a grumpy bastard since you two started sharing an office, and it’s a good look on you.’

‘But why? Steve doesn’t need a grumpy bastard like me bringing him down.’

‘Y’ever think that maybe _he could bring you up?’_

_As if._

‘Darcy - ' 

‘I know I know, you think people are awful, everything is terrible, that’s the way it is and nothings gonna change. But Bucky, just give him a fucking chance.' 

__Give Steve a chance?_ A chance to what – change his mind? Restore his faith in people? Sweep him off his feet and ride into the sunset? Hallmark crap like that didn’t happen in real life. _

__Bucky opened his mouth to say just that, but Darcy cut him off._ _

__‘Barnes. Bucky. Buck Rogers. Don’t even give me that crap, _I know you’re going to say something disgustingly depressing!_ Just come out with us on Friday, pretty please?’_ _

__Bucky sighed, defeated._ _

__‘I already said I would, Darcy.’_ _

__She narrowed her eyes at him in mock-sternness._ _

__‘You better.’ With that slightly ominous parting shot, she swung around, the tips of her long hair biffing Bucky ever so softly in the face, and left._ _

__

__~~~~~_ _

__

__‘Hey, Steve?’_ _

__‘Yeah, Buck?’_ _

__‘You um… you know Clint? The night guard?’_ _

__‘Yeah! I know Clint. Why, what about him?’_ _

__‘Oh, you know Clint. Oh well, you probably know that it’s his birthday this week then?’_ _

__‘Yeah, I think he’s having drinks this Friday?’_ _

__‘Yeah, yeah he is. Anyway, I was thinking, uh… You… ack, Steve, you uh, probably got better things to do, but – you think you’re gonna go or what?’_ _

__‘Was planning to. I mean, Clint’s a good friend.’_ _

__‘Oh, yeah. Ok.’_ _

__Silence._ _

__‘You planning on coming along too?’_ _

__‘Oh, I haven’t really decided. Might just drop in, y’know, say hi. It’s kinda… near where I live, so.’_ _

__‘You should! You should come along and I’ll introduce you to Clint.’_ _

__‘Uh, sounds good Steve.’_ _

__‘Great! It’s a date.’_ _

__He knew Steve was only joking, but _wasn’t that a thought?__ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HALP ME I'm getting start-itis and want to write so many more Stucky fics. Bored office workers falling in love is something I'll never get tired of, though. 
> 
> There was a request in the comments for poems in each chapter, so here's my first attempt. This one is, I think, a Bucky poem. Seems flippant on the surface but with a ton of introspection on the underbelly.
> 
> THE TROUBLE WITH GERANIUMS
> 
> The trouble with geraniums  
> is that they’re much too red!  
> The trouble with my toast is that  
> it’s far too full of bread.
> 
> The trouble with a diamond  
> is that it’s much too bright.  
> The same applies to fish and stars  
> and the electric light.
> 
> The troubles with the stars I see  
> lies in the way they fly.  
> The trouble with myself is all  
> self-centred in the eye.
> 
> The trouble with my looking-glass  
> is that it shows me, me;  
> there’s trouble in all sorts of things  
> where it should never be.
> 
> \- Mervyn Peake


	5. The Third Week (part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bored magazine editor Bucky and his assistant Steve have each others' backs through confrontations and important conversations. This chapter features Tuesday afternoons, Double Murder Glares, A Moment, and the gratuitous misuse of adverbs. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No specific warnings for this chapter. There is a confrontation scene but it is not a physical one. Bucky and Steve have each others' backs, so that's OK.

Tuesday afternoons were, in Bucky’s opinion, the worst afternoons. They were the worst because they were so long and so devoid of stimulation, and the previous weekend felt so far away, and because even after the day was over and you’d gotten home, _it was still only Tuesday_ and you had the rest of the week to get through. So, the worst afternoons. He was bored and didn’t want to admit it. What sort of editor was he if he was already slacking off on a Tuesday? 

 

He turned his head to watch Steve, typing away solemnly with his tongue poking out through his pursed lips just a fraction. Things between the two of them were good, he didn’t think Steve would mind a little distraction. Besides, having Steve Rogers’ full attention could be addicting. 

‘Hey, uh, Steve?’

Steve immediately turned his head and smiled at Bucky.

‘What’s up?’

‘I think it was Steven King who said that the road to Hell is paved with adverbs. I’d like to submit that he’s wrong, that the road to Hell is in fact one long Tuesday afternoon.’

Steve made a face, scrunching up his adorable nose and taking off his glasses to rub at his eyes. 

‘Today getting to ya, huh?’

‘Can you tell? Hey, what are you working on at the moment? Did you get a short list together for the _Nature_ section?’

‘Yeah I did, it’s somewhere – oh wait I’ll just email it over to you.’

‘Thanks. Y’know, you being here is a godsend, Stevie, you really are making this ridiculous competition one hell of a lot easier.’ It was hard to keep the fondness out of his voice.

Steve blushed and ducked his head. ‘Naww, I’m just helping out.’

‘Yeah, Steve, you really are helping me. If I weren’t terrified of Peggy Carter, I’d probably offer you a permanent job here.’

Steve’s eyes shone, a calm ocean where ships could glide safely home.

‘Really?’

‘Hell yes! As it is, if you need a reference or whatever, I’d be more than happy to provide that too.’

‘That’s… real nice of ya, means a lot that you’d say that… about me.’ Steve gave Bucky a tiny, self-deprecating smile.

‘Why wouldn’t I say it, Steve, it’s true! And as I said, you really are a huge help.’

Steve blushed even more and looked away for a long moment. When he turned back around, his angular face had softened. Steve took a deep breath.

‘You know, I was terrified when Darcy told me I’d be working with you. I’d only been interning part-time in the art department, but I knew who you were and what you did, and I guess I thought you’d be, I dunno… scary. Like Fury, you know. But – you’re not, not really like that at all, are you?’

Bucky breathed out slowly. This was going to be important. Bucky knew he had a reputation around the office as being quiet, even sullen, and this wasn’t the first time he’d heard someone express those particular sentiments. This was different, though, because this was Steve, and right back from their first encounter in the gym three weeks ago, Bucky had felt as though Steve was someone he never wanted to be scared of him. 

 

‘No Steve, I’m no like that at all. Not really… no. I just like to make people think I’m scary so they won’t bother me.’

‘Yeah you’ve got that tall-dark-and-brooding thing going on. The staff photographers all want you to sit for them.’

_Brooding??_

‘What? Who, Mary Jane does? Oh no, that would be a terrible idea, I’d make a terrible subject.’

‘Mary Jane, Peter, even Miles wants you to sit for a portrait session. But yeah, you’d probably bust the camera lens on the first go.’

‘Hey! You sayin’ I’m ugly, punk?

‘I’m saying, you’d probably give the camera one mean look and it’d try and run away in fear, jerk.’

‘Ha! My mean looks have been known to knock insects out of their flight paths.’

Steve breathed out a tiny laugh, but his eyes didn’t smile. He looked down at his desk for a second, and said, ‘but Mary Jane’s got a huge crush on you anyway, so she’d probably forgive you.’

Bucky could feel his cheeks start to heat up at that. Was he going to be brave here? Yeah, for Steve, yeah he was.

‘Awkward, seeing as she’s ten years younger than me…. Also, I’m gay, so, y’know…’

There, he’d done it. His sexuality wasn’t something he hid, exactly, and he didn’t know how much attention Steve paid to office gossip which would have told him that ages ago, but saying the words out loud to Steve felt like offering his most vulnerable self up on a platter. If Steve hated him now, if he had a crush on a homophobic straight guy after all, he thought he’d just about collapse from disappointed hopes. 

Steve just stared at him. 

‘You’re… gay?’ Steve’s face hardened into a suspicious, questing glare.

_Oh no. Maybe this was a mistake._

_Maybe he’d misread the situation entirely._

‘That a problem, punk?’

At that, Steve’s eyebrows shot up and his face took on a confused-puppy look.

‘You think I…? Oh God, Bucky, no.’

_This might be the first time he’d seen Steve get flustered._

_Huh. All it took was him coming out to get Steve on the back foot._

‘Bucky, no, I wasn’t saying that… well, I mean, I myself am pretty damn queer, so no I don’t have a problem with that.’

_Pretty damn queer????_

_Oh hell no… Oh hell yes!_

Steve was beautiful and brave and kind and clever and _pretty damn queer_ and he was so _pretty_ and _damn_ and _queer_ and it had been so hard, it was always hard every time no matter how many times he said it, but Steve had said it right back, no hesitations, no reticence, _of course Steve was the brave one, he’d expect nothing less,_ and all of a sudden this Moment had become very important, Steve and Bucky locking eyes across their office desks, newly-discovered solidarity in their eyes, a tiny smile playing on Steve’s lips and a soft edge to his gaze. The atmosphere between the two of them had become so thick it deserved its own no-flight zone.

Steve spoke first, of course. 

‘Never gets easier to actually say that, does it?’

‘Shit no. Feels good though. Worth it, I think.’

‘I think so too.’

‘Steve…’ Bucky started, realising that he had no idea where that sentence was going, just that it was important to say that name. Somehow, it made all the difference in the world.

There was that feeling again, the one he’d had in Bruce’s coffee shop. The feeling that he was going to do it, he was going to ask Steve out. The words were on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t cheapen the connection they’d just opened up between the two of them. Just because Steve was _pretty damn queer_ didn’t automatically mean he was interested in Bucky, and it would be demeaning to suggest that right now. Right now, he was happier just having had the Moment. Bucky smiled to himself as he and Steve went back to work. 

_Maybe Tuesday afternoons weren’t so bad after all._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Bucky was beginning to think of Steve as the World’s Cutest Murder-Kitten. It was the glare, it was totally the glare. It was murderously intimidating and also monstrously adorable. That glare did it for him, he decided. It was the glare of a tiny, pissed-off Steve Rogers about to throw down some shade to a man twice his size in the middle of a crowded gym on a Saturday afternoon. It was the glare of a man who didn’t let anyone tell him what to do even when he was two seconds away from fainting on his office floor, the glare of a man who could, maybe, change Bucky’s mind about Starbucks being God’s Greatest Gift To Mankind. Right now, it was the glare of a man about to argue with _Hank fucking Pym_ about whether breastfeeding should be allowed in public spaces. 

_Shit._

All Bucky had wanted to do was grab a coffee refill from the break room, but he’d been distracted and caught up in his head with thoughts of work when he’d pushed open the door and walked into the middle of what was almost a shouting match. 

Steve was standing toe-to-toe with Pym, a big, solid-looking older guy who could probably bench-press Steve with one hand. Hank Pym was also one of the top shareholders for the magazine, and he was on the Board of Directors for fuck’s sake, which kind of made him _Steve and Bucky’s boss._ Steve, although perfectly aware of this fact, had drawn himself up to his full height and was attempting to actually stare the other guy down while they quarrelled. 

‘How can you say that? They have just as much right to public places as you do!’ That was Steve, of course. 

‘Look, it’s indecent. If a man walks around with his dick out, he’d get arrested! I just don’t see why women should get a pass when they can just as easily find a restroom and do it in private. Ladies these days have no sense of propriety.’ Hank seemed stoic as all hell, his face barely registering annoyance where Steve’s was flushed red with anger.

‘Don’t you dare compare some douchebag flopping his dick out in public to a mother giving her baby food! That’s literally _what breasts were made for!’_

‘Yeah, doesn’t mean they aren’t making a spectacle of themselves getting their tits out in the middle of the street, I mean, come on ladies, have some self-respect, right?’

_‘What the hell are you talking about, Pym?’_

Bucky froze in the doorway, not wanting to get in the middle of this. Hank, however, saw Bucky slowly trying to creep backwards out of the door without being noticed, and gave him an unimpressed, _does-this-dog-belong-to-you-can-you-get-it-off-me-now_ stare over the top of Steve’s head. Steve noticed and turned around to see what Hank was looking at. 

The instant he saw Bucky, Steve deflated, almost like he’d been caught out by a teacher. He gave Hank The Murder Kitten Glare and started to turn away, eyes cast down.

Oh thank fuck the argument was over, now he could get his coffee in peace. 

Or at least, that’s how it seemed. Bucky should have known that Steve never backed down. Bucky heard Hank’s huff of laughter even over the roar of the kettle.

‘Rogers, there’s really no need to get your panties in a twist over this.’

_Oh no._

Steve whipped his head back up to glare at Hank again, shoving a finger in his face, his voice growing louder with each word.

‘For your information, _Mister_ Pym, breastfeeding is _not_ a sexual act, women _shouldn’t_ be shamed for it, and it’s douchebags like you – ’ _oh no, Steve_ – ‘who make it really hard for mothers to feel comfortable breastfeeding, who sexualise breasts when they’re not there for your enjoyment, it’s damn hard work being a mother, and making people ashamed of breastfeeding is just one more way for men to assert their shitty-ass superiority complex – ’

_Bad plan, Steve! Back down NOW!_

Now Hank looked furious. He ignored Steve, once more staring over his head straight at Bucky.

‘Barnes, come get your dog. He’s way out of line.’

_Oh hell no. Fuck this guy, no-one gets to talk about Steve that way._

Steve spluttered with anger and opened his mouth again, looking livid with rage. It was too late to back out now, Bucky knew, he was involved now and he had to choose a side. Dammit, this was exactly the situation he’d been hoping to avoid! Steve’s neck was craned around so he could glare at Bucky, his blue eyes accusing and angry and no, he couldn’t let this one go. Not this time. 

Bucky didn’t even hesitate. He looked Hank dead in the eye, kept his voice low and level, and gave his best not-at-all-friendly smile, more a snarl of teeth than anything 

‘That wasn’t very polite, Pym. And I happen to agree with Steve.’

Steve snapped his mouth closed and turned to grin at Hank, blue eyes triumphant and one eyebrow raised, joyfully aggressive.

Bucky widened his grin to match Steve’s, and moved up to stand just at his back, arms folded, meeting Hank’s angry eyes with his calm ones. 

Bucky could do a dead-eye stare-off all day. He was good at that, never showed his anger when it really counted, kept his outbursts on the inside in favour of an eerie, controlled quiet that tended to unnerve most people. 

Hank put up his hands and backed off a step. 

‘You men really need to get back to work.’ Pym’s eyes slipped to the floor, cowed by Double Murder Glares, and walked stiffly out of the room. The two remaining sets of eyes, one blazing with barely controlled fury, the other cold but no less angry, watched him in silence until the door clicked shut behind him.

As soon as he was out of the door, Steve turned to Bucky, the light of triumph still in his eyes. 

‘Thanks for having my back there, Buck, that guy can be a real piece of work.’

Bucky smiled, because in that moment how could he have done anything else? 

‘No problem Stevie, Hank deserves someone calling him out on his shitty-ass opinions every now and then.’

Steve smiled right back at him, real and open and full of camaraderie. Was this another Moment for them? A redress of the way they’d met, an attempt at a do-over? Standing up for Steve felt good, but wasn’t enough to dispel the guilt in Bucky’s chest over the way he’d acted towards Steve in the first week they’d met. It felt like a start, though, and that mattered to him. 

‘Now that’s over, maybe I can finally get that coffee I came in here for.’

‘Don’t drink the piss-water they have in here, Buck. Come on, let me get mine from my office and we can make a jug. It’s way better than anything you’ll get in this kitchen.’

Camaraderie, and the promise of coffee? How could Bucky ever say no to that? 

It was only later, safely seated back at his desk and with the adrenaline from that afternoons’ confrontation finally ebbing away, that Bucky finally realised what he’d done. He’d defied _Hank fucking Pym_ to his face, he’d probably _risked his job_ by standing against one of the only shareholders powerful enough and vindictive enough to actually try and get him – _or worse, Steve_ – fired over something like this. Shit, he was an idiot. 

An image of Steve’s hard, happy smile in their Moment after Hank had left sprang to his mind, and just the memory of Steve’s smile made him duck his head behind his computer, a blush starting on his own face. _That punk,_ he thought fondly. He really did agree with Steve, and seeing Hank Pym back off from the combined force of Steve-and-Bucky had been a great moment. If Steve hadn’t been there, he would never have back-talked Pym like that, but somehow seeing Steve stand up for what he believed in made Bucky’s bitter, cynical heart vibrate, turning over and making its presence felt in his chest. It made him want to be brave too, want more than anything to make Steve proud of him so he’d see that wonderful smile again. 

_Barnes, you sap,_ he thought to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double Murder Glares! Tuesday Afternoons! Idiot boys growing closer!   
> Workplace shenanigans are my favourite shenanigans. I've had enough boring jobs that I have a healthy hatred for Tuesday afternoons and dickhead co-workers, and I think I may be projecting that onto Bucky a little. Sue me. 
> 
> I feel like Hank Pym would be the kind of person to bust out a Tennyson quote in the middle of a discussion, like an asshole. This poem makes me feel a little small, a little angry, a little resentful of authority - does anyone else feel the same? Kind of like the idea of cold, distant (male) authority that Hank in this 'verse personifies.
> 
>  
> 
> THE EAGLE 
> 
> He clasps the crag with crooked hands;   
> Close to the sun in lonely lands,   
> Ring'd with the azure world, he stands. 
> 
> The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;   
> He watches from his mountain walls,   
> And like a thunderbolt he falls.   
>  \- Alfred Tennyson


	6. The Third Weekend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maths Problem Of The Day: How many Almost Moments go into making up one whole Moment?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint Barton, you dummy.

The bar that Clint had chosen for his birthday drinks was surprisingly calm. It was a long, high-ceilinged place that had a shabby, unassuming air and wasn’t as packed as many of the other bars around the area. Clint himself also had a shabby, unassuming air about him, so Bucky guessed that this was somewhere he’d fit right in. Bucky had never paid much attention to Clint before, despite the two of them sometimes being the only early-starters in the Stark Tower. The man was usually asleep in the security booth whenever Bucky went past, so Darcy’s assertion that he was a coffee-lover had surprised him. Clint was tall, broad-shouldered and handsome, in a rugged kind of way. Not the sort of build Bucky usually went for, but damn if he couldn’t appreciate a hot guy when one stood in front of him, spilling shots down his shirt and attempting to wipe away the wetness with a soaked-through napkin. Clint was also… kind of a disaster, it seemed. He had a broken nose, a black eye, and two splinted fingers. Clearly, security guarding for the Stark Building was a seriously physical job, even if Bucky had never actually seen Clint doing any work. 

 

The _Marvel_ crowd was large, taking up three sofas and spilling over multiple tables. Bucky hadn’t realised that Clint knew this many people. Maybe, like him, Darcy had corralled some of them into coming out, but it seemed like Clint was talking to everyone tonight, smiling and snarking his way through the crowds. Bucky himself was wedged into the corner of a sofa, clasping at his beer and trying to seem unobtrusive. He had been forgotten by everyone else, which was probably a good thing, seeing as he was usually way too insecure to strike up a conversation with someone he didn’t know, and he didn’t think he knew anyone here. Even the few attempts he’d made at conversation had fizzled out once he realised that he knew nothing about these people beyond the jobs they did, and no-one wanted to talk shop on a Friday night. Why had he come out? No-one wanted to talk to him. No-one. He was just the weird introvert in the corner. Steve wasn’t even here. He should leave. 

 

_Oh fuck this!_ He had known how to do this, once up a time. When he’d been young, he had known how to move among people like a ripple along the sea shore, dropping a smile here, a joke there. That was before he’d grown up into an adult and realised that he hated himself most of the time. That was before the accident had trashed his body and done a number on his self-worth. That was before the depression and the isolation and the _tiredness…_

 

But he was drifting. He was in a bar, trying to have fun. Those thoughts were not fun-bar thoughts. Right. He was going to have to pick someone to talk to soon otherwise he really would look like a loser. 

‘Hey man.’

Bucky looked up in surprise as Clint, of all people, perched on the arm of his sofa. Bucky obligingly moved his arm a few inches further away from the other man’s body.

‘Hey Clint, happy birthday man.’

‘It’s Bucky, right?’

_Of course he doesn’t know. Why would he know who I am?_

‘Uh, yeah. Bucky Barnes. Nice to meetcha.’

‘Clint Barton, same. Gotta say man, it’s good to be Friday, right?’

‘Uh, yeah.’

Clint looked down at Bucky with a small frown on his face. He was sat so much higher that Bucky had to crane his neck up to look at him, but Clint suddenly slid down the sofa arm to wriggle next to Bucky. Now it was even tighter a fit on the sofa and Bucky felt hemmed-in and a little claustrophobic, but at least the two of them were at the same eye-level. He tried to concentrate on what Clint was saying but it was hard having another person’s undivided attention for so long. 

‘Hey man, I know this isn’t your scene. I just wanted to say, thanks for coming out tonight. I really appreciate it.’

‘Oh, uh – no worries.’

_Damn it why is this so hard?_

‘Yeah I’ve been making the rounds, been trying to say hey to everyone, but you’re the Mystery Guy, I don’t really know that much about you and I figured, hey, this is the perfect chance, y’know?’

‘Yeah well, dunno if I’ll be great company. Long day at work, see.’

‘Man, don’t I know it? I’m on these long-ass shifts, gotta stay awake, gotta stay focused but there’s nothing to _do,_ y’know? But I gotta stay alert the whole time anyway and there’s not enough coffee in the world to keep me awake sometimes. Can’t even bring my dog in, man.’ Clint looked like that was the biggest tragedy of his life. 

‘Oh, you have a dog?’

‘Well, I mean technically he’s not _my dog,_ but I can’t seem to shake him off, y’know? Follows me around, keeps sleeping in my bed and eating my pizza, just makes himself at home in my apartment all the time.’

‘But you must like having him around?’ Bucky asked in spite of himself.

‘Well yeah, I mean, he’s a dog, man. Not a dog-man, I mean like, not a man who’s a dog, but like, he’s a dog,’ Clint paused for effect, ‘-man.’

‘Sleeping in a bed, eating your pizza? I dunno, _man,_ sounds like a dogman to me?’

Clint, to Bucky’s surprise, burst out laughing.

‘Yeah, man – uh, guy, that dog thinks he’s people. Wanna see a photo?’

‘Sure.’

‘Here – lemme get my phone.’ Clint dug in his pocket, spilling his drink in the process. 

‘Awww, beer.’ As he turned his head to contort into a position where he could get at his phone, Bucky caught a glimpse of a small hearing aid tucked inside Clint’s left ear. Huh. He had never noticed that before. Clint pulled up a picture of a shaggy golden retriever, all silky fluff and goofy smiles, and handed it over to Bucky.

‘There he is. Isn’t he cute? I call him Lucky.’

‘He’s very cute.’ Bucky agreed, feeling strange. This was a conversation, wasn’t it? Bucky had thought that he was out of practice, but this was an actual conversation. Maybe – maybe he just had to get back into practice more? Steve wasn’t even here and Bucky was _talking to someone._

Bucky and Clint continued their conversation. Despite having very different interests they both bonded over a mutual love of animals and card games, and a hatred of loud, noisy, busy spaces. Bucky learned that Clint had been a sniper in the army who’d been discharged when an IED blast left him deaf in one ear and with an inbuilt hatred of, like, authoritarian systems, man. Clint preferred his security booth because it allowed him to interact with people while still keeping them at a safe distance, a sentiment with which Bucky could wholeheartedly empathise. He was enjoying the conversation so much, in fact, that he almost missed Steve’s entrance. 

_Almost._ I mean, he thought, realistically, how could he miss that shining blond head of hair or that beautiful face? Bucky’s mouth went a little dry when he saw Steve crossing the room to where he and Clint sat, drink in hand. Steve was wearing a dark green sweater, the V-neck just low enough to show off his sharp collarbones and a triangle of chest. That intriguing tattoo, the subject of Bucky’s inappropriate fantasy, was once more on display under rolled-up sleeves, and he was swinging a buttery brown leather jacket from one hand. The thought of Steve in a leather jacket was enough to make Bucky’s eyes un-focus and his mouth go dry. Steve’s hair was gelled in soft waves on top and slicked back at the side, emphasising the dramatic lines of his cheekbones. He was smiling softly, blue eyes twinkling under the bar spotlights.

As Steve approached, Clint launched himself off the sofa and enveloped him in a bear hug, almost knocking the smaller man off his feet.

‘Steve! You made it, bud. How are ya? I haven’t seen you in forever.’

‘Clint! Happy birthday man, I’m doin’ fine. Good to see ya. Hey, Buck.’ Steve leaned around Clint to give a short wave and a happy smile in Bucky’s direction. So he had noticed him. Good, now Bucky could leave if he wanted to, probably should leave so that Steve and Clint could catch up without him there. That was what they’d want. Except – Clint was turning back to Bucky, offering Steve the vacated sofa position and dragging another low stool up for himself. Steve wriggled in next to Bucky on the narrow sofa, their bodies now pressed together from shoulder to knee. Bucky could feel the shift in the other man’s arm when he lifted his drink, could feel the light fill and sway of his shoulders when he breathed. It was enough to make his heart beat loudly in his ears, so loudly that Steve would surely hear. 

‘So Steve, before you arrived I was just about to tell Bucky here that we should all go shooting some weekend.’

_Wait, what?_ Was that what they’d been talking about?

‘Clint! You know I don’t do guns! And you are not dragging me down to the archery range again, not after what happened last time.’

‘What happened last time?’ Bucky asked timidly.

Steve coloured beetroot pink. ‘You can’t laugh – it’s just that I’m pretty sure Clint’s bow, uh… hates me.’

‘What he means is, he smacked himself in the face trying to string my practice longbow, and nearly broke his nose. 

‘I ain’t laughing at’cha Stevie.’

_‘Stevie?’_ Clint’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and he shot Steve an appraising look. Steve made Murder Kitten eyes back at him and Clint coughed loudly, perhaps to cover a smile?

‘Anyway, what I _meant_ was paintballing. We should all go paintballing together one time.’

‘I love paintballing!’

‘That’s just cos you’ve got freakishly good aim Steve.’

‘Better than you, _Hawkeye?_ ’ Now Steve was the one teasing. 

‘No-one’s better than me, man. I can hit a slice of pepperoni from two hundred yards, on a dark night with no moon and a howling sou’westerly wind. I can hit a squirrels nuts _while he’s inside the tree._ I can hit a dime in your pocket through three layers of clothing and a cheese sandwich. I can hit – ’

Steve pushed him off the stool, creasing with laughter. Bucky smiled. He _liked_ Clint.

‘Whaddaya say, Bucky? Come paintballing with me and Stevie one weekend?’

Steve turned bright eyes towards Bucky and grinned.

‘Oh yes, Bucky! Come with us!’ Clint matched Steve’s grin with one of his own, and the two of them waited in anticipation as Bucky looked from one to the other. 

In the face of so much enthusiasm, how could he refuse? 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night wore on, the bar getting busier as the hour got later. Bucky found himself talking to more people and surprised himself by actually enjoying it. Once he’d gotten over his initial shyness, he found that he had a bit more in common with a few people than he’d thought, and that tonight wasn’t anywhere near as bad as he’d imagined. It helped a lot that Steve stayed by his side for most of the night, seeming to understand that Bucky might need someone there to help him out when he occasionally clammed up. Steve was, as usual, witty and laid-back, friendly with everyone and excellent at navigating just on the right side of small talk, drawing Bucky back into the conversations every time he was starting to feel left out. As midnight approached, however, and the crowd got rowdier, Bucky found himself starting to withdraw once more, eventually settling down onto the same sofa on which he’d started the night. Steve plopped down beside him.

‘Gets a bit much after a while, doesn’t it?’ Steve remarked, pulling his hair from his eyes.

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, which was starting to ache.

‘You can say that again, pal. I mean, I like these people but still…’

‘Yeah, I know what you mean. Kinda like, as nice as people are, sometimes I just wanna take some time for myself, you know?’

Bucky stared at Steve, astonished. Steve was always so polite and ready to talk to people at the office, and had seemed to know everyone here tonight. He was not the sort of person Bucky had expected to hear confess to social fatigue. That was _his thing._

‘Oh, well I can leave if you want some time to yourself now.’ He said, starting to rise.

‘No!’ Steve almost shouted, then looked a little sheepish when he realised how loud he’d been. ‘No, it’s ok Buck, I didn’t mean that you had to leave. You’re not people.’ 

Bucky looked down to where Steve had put his hand on Bucky’s arm to stop him leaving. It looked nice just resting there, and Steve had made no effort to remove it.

‘I’m not people?’

‘No, you’re – I mean, you uh, you’re you and you’re, I mean, you’re – nice – to talk to.’

‘You’re – nice to talk to, too.’ 

Now Bucky and Steve were sitting perked up and twisted towards each other on the sofa, knees angled inwards but not quite touching.

‘I like – talking to you, Buck. I like – you.’

‘I – I like you too, Stevie.’

They were so close now, Bucky was starting to lean in and he was almost certain Steve was doing the same. _What was happening?_

‘Buck, I –’

‘Steve?’ Bucky whispered tentatively, not sure if he was reading this right. Steve’s hand on his arm, his knee in Bucky’s thigh, his eyes locked in – they had to mean something, right? 

Steve leaned in a little further.

‘Bucky.’ His name sounded like the most beautiful note ever sung coming from those pink lips. They were even closer now, their noses merely millimetres away from one another, and Bucky could feel Steve’s breath on his jaw. He was going to do it, he was going to close those millimetres and – 

 

Something hard and heavy toppled over the sofa back and between Steve and Bucky. Startled, both men jumped back as Clint crashed down onto the floor between them and landed in a heap of cricked limbs and broken glass. 

‘Awww, sofa,’ came a muffled hiss.

The moment was broken. Had it even been a moment? Had that really been about to happen? No - it couldn’t have been. Steve _could not_ have been about to kiss him and he _had not_ been about to kiss back. Steve jumped to his feet, avoiding Bucky’s eye, and stooped to untangle Clint from the stool legs. Together, he and Bucky managed to right him and get him onto the sofa, a dazed look on Clint’s face. A tiny redheaded woman in a black leather jacket – _Natasha from legal,_ his brain supplied – hauled Clint upright by one arm.

‘Think you’ve had enough to drink for tonight, Clint?’

‘Nat! There you are! I can explain, there was a real big dog, just –’

Natasha smiled fondly at him and put her arm around his waist, listening to Clint babble on about a dog he’d seen outside the bar and apparently couldn’t wait to pet.

‘Clint Barton, you dummy. Come on, I’m taking you home. See ya, Steve, thanks for helping this one out.’ She waved over her shoulder as she led Clint out of the bar.

‘I should get going as well, I think,’ murmured Steve. He was still avoiding Bucky’s eye. 

_Of course._ The alcohol and the closeness and – they’d had an _Almost Moment,_ and now Steve was regretting it and wanted to leave. _Way to go, Barnes, now you’ve made Steve uncomfortable._

‘Oh, yeah I might… head off as well, I guess. It’s getting kinda late.’

The two men said their goodbyes and headed out of the bar in awkward silence. Once outside, Steve shivered and wrapped a scarf around his neck. Bucky lit a cigarette just to have something to do with his hands, because Steve had shrugged into his leather jacket and Bucky wanted nothing more than to reach out, take hold of his jacket lapels and crush their mouths together.

‘Wanna split a cab?’

_With me?_

‘Nah, I’ll just walk thanks, I live close by anyway.’

Steve’s face fell a little at that.

‘Oh, I thought we could – ok no, never mind. I guess I’ll see ya then. You gonna be at the gym tomorrow?’

_Oh. Shit._

‘Um, actually I’m kinda busy tomorrow, dunno. I might make it but I – I dunno.’

‘Ok well, I might see ya round then Buck. Take care.’

‘Yeah, see ya Stevie, get home safe.’

‘You too.’ 

Bucky turned on his heels and got out of there as quickly as he could, not wanting to make Steve any more uncomfortable with a long goodbye.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky avoided the gym that Saturday, the break in his routine almost causing a physical ache. Instead, he did something he’d not done for a long time, and headed down to Fogwell’s boxing gym. Fogwell’s was somewhere he’d trained, a lifetime ago it seemed, when he was a hot-headed young man who wanted to fight. Bucky figured he could hit a bag a few times, see if he still liked it, which it turned out he still did. A lot. Bucky hadn’t tried going somewhere new to work out in years, but it felt really, really good to do so on his own terms and at his own pace. Un-taping his hands as he stepped away from the punching bags and into the deserted locker room, Bucky felt a strange tingling in his stomach and chest… pride. He was proud of himself for doing something that he wanted to do, without anyone there to tell him off for it. Even the curt text he received from Brock – _“Too good to work out with us now, man?”_ – couldn’t dampen his mood. 

Still – the thought of facing the office on Monday made him a little anxious.  
He couldn’t have said why exactly, just perhaps that he had the vague feeling that on Monday he’d have to face something bad, and the longer he put it off, the better.  
It took him a day to decompress from Friday’s social activities anyway, and by then the weekend was pretty much over, wasn’t it? Whoever heard of people having a social life on a Sunday anyway? No, he was better off staying where he was at; home, safe, and away from other people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapters' poem is a mere four lines, a quote more than a poem, on the subject of drinking and hooking up.
> 
> I like to have a martini,  
> Two at the very most.  
> After three I'm under the table,  
> after four I'm under my host.
> 
> \- Dorothy Parker


	7. The Fourth Week (part one)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More socialisation outside of work, another entry into the Almost Moments archive, an attempt at shovel talk, and Steve Rogers On A Motorbike being too much for poor Bucky to handle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a little smut. If this is not your thing, stop reading after Bucky and Steve part for the night. You won't miss anything in terms of the plot. I've rated this fic 'Explicit' though, so I expect that everyone reading this is OK with a little dirty scene now and then, and I'm not going to specifically tag for these scenes in future chapters any more than a mention. You have been warned.

This was it. The fourth week, the last week of Steve being his temporary assistant. The time had gone too soon, and now Bucky only had five days left before Steve took up his new job in the art department and forgot all about him. This week was important. Bucky, however, had been starting to have the feeling that he was going to miss having Steve-the-person in his office with him to pass the time and get coffee with even more than he was going to miss having Steve-the-eye-candy to stare at every day. It was a giddy thought, to realise that he had come to think of Steve as a friend, and that he was going to miss the friendship more than anything. That Steve would forget about him when he took up his new job, Bucky had no doubts. The new job would consume him, and Steve would be back in the art department where he’d wanted to be all along, having a great time with Peggy Carter and leaving Bucky behind. 

If he was very, very lucky, Steve might want to stay friendly with him, but – after their weird almost-Moment last Friday and Steve’s immediate departure, Bucky wasn’t sure that Steve would want that at all. 

Bucky dressed carefully on Monday morning. He selected his favourite slim-cut black pants and a crisp white shirt, open at the collar and with the sleeves rolled up. After a minutes’ deliberation, he forewent a suit jacket and picked up a smart-casual blazer instead, black with blue piping that he’d been told brought out his eyes. He carefully pulled his hair back into a low bun, making sure to press the shorter strands that framed his face away behind his ears. Finally, he slipped his feet into black loafers. The outfit emphasised his broad shoulders and well-muscled arms without swamping his waist, and the blazer made his eyes look sunset-blue. It seemed important that he feel good about himself this week in particular, and that started with feeling confident in the way he looked. Besides, this could be the week that he finally gathered up the courage to ask Steve out for a drink. 

He was feeling better about himself after a little reflection on Friday nights’ events. After all, he had enjoyed talking to Clint, even though they’d never spoken before, and Steve had seemed to enjoy, even seek out his company for a large part of the evening. And then there had been that…that almost-Moment, that not-kiss, which was still confusing Bucky. They’d been leaning into each other, or so it seemed, and Steve had been touching his arm and not pulling away, and their eyes had met and it had all seemed to point towards a kiss… but then the moment had been broken – _thanks a bunch, Clint_ – and Steve had acted like he didn’t want to be around Bucky, and had left. 

_He offered to split a cab,_ whispered the part of his brain that dealt in ocean-shore eyes and soft leather jackets.  
_He was just being nice, you made it awkward for him_ whispered another part of himself, the part that covered his world in grey, _he would never go for someone like you._

_But he offered –_

_But you left.._

_But –_

_No. Steve didn’t – Steve would never choose you. Give up the daydream, loser._

Shaking his head, trying to get thoughts of leather jackets and slim hips out of his head altogether, Bucky grabbed his wallet and bag and headed out the door before he could spend any more time talking himself in circles. 

Bucky was a habitually early starter. Even on Monday mornings, which may well have been the worst mornings, Bucky liked to arrive at his office early, sneak a smoke and a coffee around the corner, and take a few minutes to sit in his office and gather himself before his co-workers arrived for the day. That had been his routine for as long as he’d worked for Marvel, and he wasn’t planning on breaking it today. 

When he crossed the lobby of the Stark Tower, however, a shout of his name jolted him out of his usual musings about the ugliness of the building and the smallness of the elevators. 

‘Hey, Bucky!’

It was Clint, waving enthusiastically at him from his booth. Bucky drifted over, coffee still in hand. 

‘Morning Clint, how’s it going?’

‘Just wanted to say, man, thanks for coming out on Friday. It was real nice talking to you. Hey, you still up for paintballing some time?’

That shocked Bucky a little. He had thought that Clint had mentioned paintballing in the same way that people said _hey, we should get coffee sometime,_ not ever intending to really do it. 

‘Uh, sure man, I’d love to go paintballing.’

‘Here – ’ Clint was digging in the pocket of his pants ‘ – let me give you my number, and I’ll text you to set something up.’ He pulled out a piece of paper and a notebook. ‘Lost my phone over the weekend, must be somewhere in my apartment, here put your number down on this and I’ll text you when I find it.’

Bucky scribbled down his number, then held out his own phone to Clint.

‘You should put your number in here too, that way I’ll text you so you’ll have my number when you find your phone. Y’know, in case you lose the paper too.’

‘I’m not that much of a disaster, am I?’ laughed Clint, knocking a stack of papers off his desk as he pushed his chair back in mock-anger. 

Bucky smiled back at Clint, feeling a little more like this was going to be a good week. Numbers exchanged and text sent, Bucky tucked his phone back into his pocket and hitched the strap of his messenger bag further up his shoulder. 

‘I should get to work.’

‘Sure man, hey come down and say hi if you need a break, it gets pretty boring in here sometimes.’

‘I will, thanks. See ya!’

‘See ya man!’

Bucky headed for the elevator, smiling to himself and not caring that he was going to be a little late to his desk. 

 

~~~~~~

 

This was either the best, or the worst idea he’d ever had. Spoken word open-mic night at Bruce’s place with Steve? It was going to be a disaster. Steve had mentioned that he was going to drop in to catch up with Bruce and see if there was anyone good around, and wondered if Bucky would be interested in joining him. Steve’s cheeks had flushed an angry red and his chin had jutted forward as he’d said it, pinning Bucky in place with his beautiful Murder Kitten Glare as though daring him to refuse. As if he could refuse Steve anything these days. When he’d accepted the invitation, managing to keep his smile to a minimum of dopiness – _or so he hoped_ – Steve had then suggested they exchange phone numbers. For co-ordinating purposes, of course. Bucky had been unable to keep the dopey smile from spreading all over his face when he’d received a text from Steve later that day with the time and place to meet.

That was how he found himself standing outside Bruce’s dimly-lit coffee house on a dark, cold Tuesday evening, holding his arms around himself to try and keep warm and peering desperately out into the darkness for a sign of Steve. 

Something shiny and _huge_ roared out of the darkness of the alley. A sleek black motorbike rolled into the circle of lamplight, a polished, vintage-looking model that purred softly as the engine killed. Atop the bike was Steve, snug inside his leather jacket and with a red-white-and-blue helmet on his head. 

God dammit, if he’d thought that Steve in a leather jacket was fucking hot as hell, the image of _Steve in a leather jacket astride a motorbike_ was almost too much to take. Bucky had to press his cold hands against his cheeks to try and calm the blush that was blooming there, and surreptitiously tried to adjust his now-tight pants. He had opted for a maroon henley and dark-washed jeans under his blue peacoat, but was wishing that he’d gone for something lighter as it was inexplicably _very hot all of a sudden._ He also wished he’d brought a tie for his hair – _for some reason_ he was getting hotter under his collar. Straddling the bike made Steve’s jeans pull tight across his thighs, and when he removed his helmet, Bucky could see his adrenaline-flushed face was red and bright-eyed. His hair had been hopelessly mussed by the helmet but even that looked damn good right now. Bucky longed to reach out and comb his fingers through that hair.  
Steve hopped off the bike, slender frame keeping all that screaming power and metal in check underneath him while he did so. He kicked out the stand and locked his helmet to the handlebars before turning to walk over to Bucky. 

‘Hiya, Buck – oh.’

Steve stopped walking and stared at Bucky.

‘What? Is there something on my face?’

‘No! I haven’t seen your hair down, that’s all.’

‘Oh. Yeah I like to rock the hobo-chic look when I’m not at work.’ 

_Hobo chic? Get a fucking grip._

Bucky self-consciously ran a hand through his own hair, trying to remember if he’d been having a bad hair day before this.

‘Looks terrible, Buck. Really awful, never gonna get a modelling career looking like that.’

‘Fuck off punk.’

Steve grinned.

‘Jerk. Shall we go in, then?’

‘Sure.’ Bucky followed Steve through the door, musing on their conversation. He thought that Steve had just complimented him, but he wasn’t sure. Maybe he was just hearing what he wanted to hear. 

Bruce’s place at night looked very similar to how it did in the daytime, low lighting, soothing music and silk drapes over the bare walls. The main difference, thought Bucky, was the people crammed around every table and across every surface. He’d never seen it so bus, and to be honest, he kind of wasn’t expecting anything like this turn out for a local spoken-word night. 

‘Steve! Steve, over here!’ a hand waved from a table near the opposite wall. Peggy Carter, the terrifying head of the Art Department, was sitting at a vacant table with three spare chairs next to her. The fact that she’d managed to defend three empty chairs in this crowded place was a testament to her legendarily sharp tongue and biting glare. 

‘Peggy!’ Steve waved in reply, then turned to Bucky. ‘Come on!’ he exclaimed happily, then started to push between crowded tables and raucous conversations to where Peggy sat. 

‘Steve! How are you, it feels like it’s been ages since we got to catch up!’ Her English accent could probably cut glass and part oceans.

‘Peggy! You look beautiful tonight, as always. I’m doing fine, can’t complain. You know Bucky?’

‘Barnes. Yes, of course. Literature, is it?’ The hand Peggy held out to shake his was perfectly manicured with blood-red nails.

‘Poetry, actually. Nice to see you.’ Bucky cringed slightly at the way his cold greeting sounded, but he had thought it was going to be just him and Steve tonight. _Well, he’d hoped it would be, anyway._

Steve was right, Bucky thought, Peggy did look beautiful. Her chestnut brown hair was curled up and pinned away from her face so that it sat neatly on her shoulders. She was wearing a set of denim overalls, artfully ripped, with a simple white t-shirt underneath. Her makeup was flawless, arching black eyeliner and blood-red lips that matched her nails. She looked like if Rosie the Riveter got a job at a hipster art gallery, and she was insanely confident. Bucky felt personally victimised by her grace and poise, feeling suddenly dowdy and clumpy in his own large, inelegant body. Even Steve looked gorgeous, lithe and put-together in the slate-grey t-shirt he wore under his leather jacket. Bucky had gotten a look a just how tight Steve’s jeans were as they’d walked over. The sight of thin denim hugging Steve’s slim hips was – wow. Steve tended to dress a little more conservatively at the office, but Bucky was _definitely_ a fan of this look. It was very… very _Steve._ Clean-cut at first appearance, blond hair and blue-eyes, but when you looked closer, got to see the leather jacket and the exposed collarbones and the tattoos and that _fucking bike,_ you’d see how badass Steve actually was. Bucky felt privileged to be able to see Steve like this, laid-back and smiling and comfortable in his own skin. 

It was obvious from the way that Steve launched into a conversation with Peggy the moment they sat down that there was friendship and affection between the two of them. It sounded like they’d got quite close when Steve interned in her department, and Bucky felt a little left out. 

_Of course,_ he thought, _more fool you for thinking that Steve might want you. Why would he, when he’s so clearly interested in Peggy?_ The fact that Steve was, in his own words, _“pretty damn queer”_ didn’t mean that he couldn’t be attracted to women. Hell, he thought even he might be a little attracted to Peggy, and he definitely didn’t swing that way. Peggy Carter, though, was enough to make any person question their sexuality. 

‘Buck?’

_Oh shit, had Steve been talking to him?_

‘Huh?’

‘I was saying, shall we go get a drink? Bruce has a liquor license and everything. You want anything, Peg?’

‘No thank you, Steve. Angie is bringing me back something.’

Steve nodded and motioned Bucky to follow him to the counter. It was hard, however, with the press of people at every step, and soon enough Steve was having to fight his way through to get to the bar. His small size meant that he got elbowed in the face twice before Bucky stepped in.

‘Steve, how bout you let me go in front, huh? Save your face from getting assaulted every three seconds.’

Steve’s Murder Kitten Glare immediately ramped itself up to eleven and focussed on Bucky’s face. 

‘I can make it fine, Buck.’ Steve set his jaw and tried to continue, but in the next moment took a badly-placed handbag to the back of the head, knocking him forward a step. Bucky stifled a laugh and pushed in front of Steve.

‘Not trying to say you can’t, Steve, just don’t want your mug to take any more hits. You never know, it might stick that way and then you’d be trouble.’ 

‘Hey!’ Steve shoved him, but it was good-natured. ‘Go on then, let me use you as a human shield.’

Bucky did know how to be polite, he really did, although in his defense, his only goal was to get to the counter without Steve getting hurt. So Bucky threw an arm around Steve’s shoulders, with a sudden extreme alertness to every place their bodies touched, and just barged his way through the crowds. Using his height, his bulk and his own Murder Glare to his advantage, he quickly managed to pilot the two of them right up to where Bruce and Betty were calmly – _and how did they stay so calm??_ – serving drinks and making coffee. 

‘Oh hey, Steve! Nice to see you’ve joined us for tonight, Bucky!’ Bruce’s warm greeting was familiar enough to make Bucky feel slightly more at home. 

Bucky ordered a beer and Steve a ginger ale, explaining that he couldn’t drink as it messed with his medication. What particular medication, he didn’t say, but Bucky assumed it was leftover antibiotics from the illness he’d had in their second week.

Drinks in hand, Bucky tucked Steve into his side once again – _for practical purposes only, of course_ – noting that Steve didn’t protest this time, and finally flopped back down in his chair. ‘Angie! Hiya, hows it going? Bucky, have you met Angie?’  
On Peggy’s other side sat a tall woman with hair a shade lighter than Peggy’s, wearing a blue dress and with an arm around Peggy’s shoulders.  
‘No, I don’t believe I have. Bucky Barnes.’ He reached across to shake her hand.  
‘Angie Martinelli. I’m this one’s fiancée.’ Angie jerked her thumb back towards Peggy, who gave her an adoring stare. Angie’s face was alight, her New York accent was as thick as anything he’d heard.  
‘Nice to meet ya, Angie.’ Angie had a kind, infectious smile and soft hands. Bucky liked her immediately. He took in the way that Angie’s thumb rubbed across Peggy’s collarbone, how she dropped a tiny kiss on the end of Peggy’s nose, and decided they made an adorable couple. 

_And that meant Peggy wasn’t dating Steve?  
Well… thank fuck for Angie Martinelli, then._

The open-mic night turned out to not be as bad as Bucky had thought, but it wasn’t really his cup of tea, either. If it hadn’t been for Steve, he probably would have left after he finished his beer. As it was, after an hour or so, the angry slam-poets and amateur stand-up routines faded into the background as the four of them talked and talked. Bucky had not expected to get along with Peggy so well, having always been terrified of her in the office, but away from work she was charming, witty, sharply observational and quick to laugh. Bucky thought he liked Angie even more, though. Angie balanced out Peggy’s sharp edges with a deceptive softness, although Bucky was delighted to learn that underneath that softness, Angie was bold as brass and took no shit. She was an actress on the stage, was the prankster of the relationship, and had been the one to propose. Where Peggy was analytical, Angie was a dreamer. Where Peggy was idealistic, Angie was ruthlessly practical. The two of them together were the epitome of a caring, dynamic relationship, and Bucky had never been happier to be wrong about a person. 

Steve, too, was being friendly and warm, obviously pleased with how well Bucky was getting along with his friends. He and Steve spent a large part of the evening engaged in low, close conversation while Angie sat in Peggy’s lap and tried to watch the performers while pretending to squirm away from Peggy’s kisses. This gave Steve and Bucky the perfect opportunity to get to know one another. Bucky learned that Steve had grown up in Brooklyn, the same as he had, although they were two school years apart and Steve had been held back, so they’d missed each other. Apparently, Steve had been a sickly child, the asthma and pneumonia and constant viral infections due to a bad immune system requiring him to take a lot of time off school. He had even contracted tuberculosis when he was six. Steve described himself as lonely, artistic, isolated by the other-ness of being so sick and weak and the death of his mother from cancer. He’d managed to put himself through art school, although again he’d had to take a year off due to multiple surgeries – to correct scoliosis and to repair a punctured lung – and how he’d had to fight to get back into the game. 

Fighting seemed to be a common theme in Steve’s life, fighting illness, fighting to keep his and his mothers’ heads above the water through crippling childhood poverty and other peoples’ judgement, fighting to keep going in a career that he loved but that demanded long hours and physical strain, fighting to keep employed as he drifted through multiple shitty jobs before hearing about a paid internship at Marvel from Clint and his girlfriend Natasha. He told Bucky of feeling like he didn’t deserve the internship, that there were thousands of better artists and art reviewers out there, but that he was glad he’d stuck it out because it was leading him to take a job as a Junior Editor in the art department when Howard Stark retired, which had of course led him to meet Bucky. Bucky listened to this onslaught on information with mixed feelings. Personally, he felt that he could add ‘fighting assholes twice my size without thinking things through’ to Steve’s list, but knew that voicing that opinion would no doubt earn him a Murder Kitten Glare, so he settled for remaining quiet despite feeling a confusing mix of exasperation, admiration and intrigue that he was beginning to associate with “Steve.” He also wanted more than anything to see Steve’s art, wanted to know the intimate ways in which this beautiful, complex man expressed himself. He’d bet any money it would be breath-taking. 

Bucky himself told Steve more than he could ever remember telling another person in one session. He told Steve about growing up in a large family that always made him feel like he had to compete with his siblings for every attention he received, feeling like he wasn’t good enough as he was constantly being compared to his siblings. He told Steve that despite everything, his family were his family, and he’d stuck with them right up until the moment his entire family died in the Alpine train crash that almost claimed his arm as well. He told Steve about sustained nerve damage, about his elbow that still ached in the cold and wet, and about the confusing mix of survivors-guilt-and-pride-at-his-recovery that he felt swilling around inside himself most days. Bucky was more than a little relieved that Steve listened to this information without judgement, and made no effort to push Bucky to talk about or show his arm beyond what he brought up himself. Bucky told Steve about being in love with science and science-fiction as a child, about being expected to follow his father into the engineering business, about how he had a crisis and switched his major to literature halfway through university after realising what made him happy. He even told Steve the story of how he came out to his parents as a terrified teenager, holding tightly to his mother with fear in his eyes as his father promised to knock out anyone who so much as looked at him differently for being gay. 

It was… a lot. For one evening, it was a hell of a lot, both to tell and be told, but Bucky found it strangely cathartic in a way that talking to other people rarely was. He had almost forgotten what it was like to have people he could really _talk to,_ about things that mattered to him, people who knew who he was and what he liked. Well, person, really. It was all Steve, the way he made Bucky feel completely relaxed and unselfconscious. Bucky could feel himself falling further and further under Steve’s spell, as though he was being dragged up from beneath dark waters into a world of sunlight. He was… not _happy,_ perhaps, but certainly content, and as soon as he named that feeling he was instantly aware of how long it had been since he’d felt this emotion. It was a complex one, contentedness, how it snuck up on him and made itself at home in his head, how it could only be unlocked by talking openly with someone who really understood. 

And so what if he caught Peggy and Angie nodding in their direction, Angie waggling her eyebrows and smirking? So what if he saw them whispering to each other out of the corner of his eye and nodding in his direction? He was content, talking to Steve, and thoroughly enjoying himself. 

Of course, the evening had to come to an end. After a few hours, the place started emptying out and Bruce made noises about closing up and going home to bed. Betty had long since left, and Bruce seemed anxious to get back to his pregnant wife. Regretfully, Bucky stepped outside while Steve said goodbye to Bruce. He lit a cigarette, wondering if he could smoke the whole thing before Steve came outside. Bucky felt guilty as hell smoking around an asthmatic, but after the deeply personal conversation he’d just had, he felt like he needed a little comfort. 

 

Peggy and Angie emerged from the café, their arms around each other to ward off the chill, and came to stand by him as he smoked. He’d noticed that the two of them liked to keep in physical contact wherever possible, and he was slightly jealous of them having someone they could just reach out and touch whenever they liked. _That was the thing about hanging out with couples, wasn’t it? It made you remember how much you hated people._ The sudden bitterness of that thought stunned him. How had he become that guy – resentful of other peoples’ happiness? That wasn’t him, or at least, he didn’t want it to be. 

_Did the two of them ever willingly separate, or did they exist as a giant eight-limbed octopus creature?_

‘It’s been real nice to meet ya tonight, Bucky.’ Angie began, casting a long glance in his direction.

‘Yeah, it’s been great to meet you too. Peggy, I’ll never think you’re scary again now that I’ve seen you giggling like a child at that one guy with the bad innuendos.’

Peggy narrowed her eyes as Bucky.

‘Hmm, I’m obviously not being scary enough around the office, then, if one evening can destroy my rep. You’d better not breathe a word of this, Barnes.’

‘Oh jeez, English, you been making people cry again?’ asked Angie, rubbing her hand up and down Peggy’s back. Bucky watched the lazy stroke of her hand, only half imagining someone – _Steve_ – rubbing his back like that. 

‘Would I do that?’ replied Peggy with a smirk and one raised brow. 

Angie just huffed a silent laugh at her fiancée and raised one eyebrow.

‘Well ma’am, I won’t say anything if I see people coming out your office in tears.’ Ok, maybe Bucky was still _slightly_ scared of her. 

‘I might say the same thing about you, now that you mention it. You’ve also got quite the rep around the place.’

‘I’m aware.’ Bucky sighed, thinking back to when Steve had told him about being scared to come and work with him. He ran a hand through his hair, not wanting to think about his early behaviour towards Steve.

‘I will say though, that I’ve rarely seen Steve warm up to a person as quickly as he has warmed up to you. He’s told me about your less-than-friendly meet-cute, and I expect that you’ve been trying to make it up to him.’

_Meet-cute?_

_Wait – is this a shovel talk?_

‘Is this the part where you tell me that if I’m a dick to Steve at work, you’ve got a shovel and a big back yard where no one will find my body?’ he quipped

‘Clearly, I don’t have to. You’ve made that jump all on your own. Which means you’re thinking about hurting Steve. Or – how not to hurt him, perhaps.’

‘That last one, yeah.’ If this were anyone else, Bucky probably would have snapped something biting and mean at her by now, given her the Murder Glare at least, but Peggy was obviously one of Steve’s friends and it would pay to keep her on his side. Besides, he actually _liked_ Peggy. 

_What’s with all the liking people going on lately? Almost like I’m a real person or something._

Bucky was saved from further shovel talk by Steve himself, who finally left the café, pulling his keys out of his pockets and fiddling with his leather jacket. He pulled a bright red scarf out of a pocket and wound it around his neck, then pulled on a pair of black gloves. It was an adorable sight, tiny Steve buried beneath layers of soft woolly warmth so that his face appeared to be peering out form some sort of red knitted molehill. Bucky stubbed out his cigarette to avoid being consumed by the cuteness of it all. 

‘Well, gentlemen, this has been a very pleasant evening, but I think Angie and I have to head home. See you both at work tomorrow.’

‘Yeah, see ya guys!’ 

Angie, then Peggy, hugged Steve, Peggy whispering something to him that made Steve blush almost as red as his scarf. The two women, who remained separated briefly to hug Bucky as well, wound their arms around each other again and started off towards the main street. 

Now it was just Bucky and Steve, alone in the alley. Steve walked over to where his bike was parked – _and oh Christ he’d forgotten the damn bike_ – and unlocked his helmet. 

‘So, glad you came out tonight?’ he asked.

‘You know what? I really am. Thank you, Steve, for inviting me out.’

‘It was my pleasure, Buck,’ Steve replied quietly, swinging a leg over his bike. The sight of Steve straddling his bike again and talking about pleasure in his amazing voice and grunting slightly with the effort was making things rather – uncomfortable – for Bucky in the downstairs department. Just as Steve settled himself on the saddle and took his hands away from the handlebars to pull on his helmet, the front wheel of the bike twisted towards the curb and the whole thing, including Steve, pitched sideways. Bucky didn’t even think, reached out and put one hand on the handlebars to steady, the other hand on Steve’s waist to stop him getting trapped underneath it if the bike were to fall. 

‘Woah, Steve – put your leg down! I got ya.’

Steve, still at an awkward angle, one leg making awkward hops along the ground, struggled to keep the weight of the bike balanced. He stumbled a little more, so that his whole chest and left shoulder bumped into Bucky’s ribcage. Steve’s left hand flew out to steady himself and grabbed a fistful of Bucky’s jacket. Bucky used that leverage to haul both Steve and the bike back upright, pushing against his chest and manoeuvring the handlebars so that the front wheel was back in alignment. Once secure and not in danger of falling over, Bucky found himself standing right up close to the bike, his right hand still on Steve’s hip, his chest heaving slightly with the effort of steadying the bike and Steve. They really were very close together. For a moment, Steve turned his face upwards to Bucky’s and Bucky wanted nothing more than to lean down and kiss him. But then Steve’s eyes dropped and he breathed out. Slowly, Steve uncurled his fist, and Bucky let go of Steve’s waist. 

‘I’m fine Buck, I always like to make it look like I have no idea how to handle my own damn bike.’ The bitterness in Steve’s voice and the bright red spots of colour that sat high on Steve’s cheekbones suggested embarrassment, but Steve didn’t move away from Bucky just yet, and so they stayed frozen with Steve’s shoulder pressed into Bucky’s chest for another long moment.

‘Don’t worry, there’s no-one around to see, and I won’t tell. Your secret’s safe with me, Stevie.’ Bucky knew that his voice had gone gravelly with the intoxicating closeness, and hoped that Steve wouldn’t read anything into it.

_Or maybe he hoped that Steve would read into it, that he’d haul Bucky back in for a rough kiss, bend him backwards over the bike’s handlebars and climb up to straddle his hips and lick stripes up his neck and –_

Bucky stepped away from Steve, suddenly feeling like he’d invaded Steve’s personal space for just a hair too long. 

‘Do you want – ’ Steve started, at the same time as Bucky said ‘Well, get home safe, then, Rogers.’

_Rogers????_

‘Oh. Yeah, you too, uh… Barnes.’ Steve clipped his helmet strap on, looking absolutely dejected for some reason. Was he still embarrassed about losing control of the bike? Or had Bucky fucked up and put more distance between them again after yet another awkward Almost-Moment?

_Who fucking knows?_

He waved Steve off, watching to make sure that his ride was smooth and steady and only half admiring the set of Steve’s shoulders and the spread of his hips as he disappeared around the corner. Absent-mindedly he rubbed his left elbow, which was twanging with pain a little from when he’d grabbed the bike and strained to push it upright. It wasn’t a bad pain, just a little more than he was used to.  
He turned to start his own journey home, thinking pleasant thoughts to himself of smiling blue eyes and red scarves, of the feeling of Steve’s hand on his chest, Steve’s fingers twisting around his shirt. 

_This is not an appropriate thought to have about a co-worker – about a – friend?_

Who was he kidding? He was gone way, way past the stage where he could control his thoughts of attraction towards Steve.  
~~~~~~~~~~

On settling into his bed that night, Bucky felt restless. He touched his own chest softly where Steve’s shoulder had sat earlier, remembering the weight and warmth of his touch. Rubbing small circles into his skin, Bucky let his hand trail down and sit just under the hem of his t-shirt. 

_Steve – on that bike. Those thighs, slim and firm and strong, keeping the power of that engine tightly controlled underneath him._  
   
Bucky’s hand teased at the waistband of his boxers.

_Steve’s hands, warm and rough, unbuttoning his shirt and reaching for his chest._

Boxers slipped down over his hips to expose the most vulnerable part of himself, half-hard and starting to feel tight.

_Steve’s mouth, pink and soft and commanding, leaving wet kisses on his neck as Steve licked down his stomach and across his hips._

Bucky took himself in hand, fingers closing tightly around his hardening cock. 

_Bucky pushed Steve against a wall and sank to his knees in front of him, opened up Steve’s jeans and pulled down his boxers.Steve’s rough hand wrapped around Bucky’s happy cock and pulled, Steve licked his own fingers and trailed them behind Bucky’s balls to where his pink hole welcomed them. Steve lay on top of Bucky, pushed two fingers into him, twisted and beckoned and fondled and sucked and –_

Bucky’s climax arrived quickly and suddenly, warming the base of his spine and slamming through him as he shot his load across his own stomach and lay there, panting. 

Oh shit, he was in deep, deep trouble now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, first time writing smut. More may be to come, we'll see.  
> Just wanna say thanks to everyone who has read or commented or left kudos on this fic. It's my first time writing anything creative in over ten years, so I really do appreciate all the feedback. You give a jaded student life :)  
> By the way, I have a tumblr. Come squee with me. kateyfish.tumblr.com 
> 
> I don't think there's any way I could write a fic about queer men and poetry without mentioning some gay male poets. Although I admit I don't know a hell of a lot about this scene, I've at least been aware of the work of Regie Cabico for a while and in honour of Bucky and Steve's excursion to a spoken word night, this chapter's poem is by a former USA National Poetry Slam champ. He is one of the few slam poets whose work I can stand even in written form, although I suspect this would sound even more powerful out loud. His wikipedia page describes him as 'the Lady Gaga of spoken word poets'. Take from that what you will. Note this poem is probably NSFW.
> 
> QUEERIFY ME  
> queer me  
> shift me  
> transgress me  
> tell my students i’m gay  
> tell chick fil a i’m queer  
> tell the new york times i’m straight  
> tell the mail man i’m a lesbian  
> tell american airlines  
> i don’t know what my gender is  
> like me  
> liking you  
> like summer blockbuster armrest dates  
> armrest cinematic love  
> elbow to forearm in the dark  
> humor me queerly  
> fill me with laughter  
> make me high with queer gas  
> decompress me from centuries of spanish inquisition  
> & self-righteous judgment  
> like the blood my blood  
> that has mixed w/ the colonizer  
> & the colonized  
> in the extinct & instinct to love  
> bust memories of water & heat  
> & hot & breath  
> beating skin on skin fluttering  
> bruise me into vapors  
> bleed me into air  
> fly me over sub-saharan africa & asia & antarctica  
> explode me from the closet of my fears  
> graffiti me out of doubt  
> bend me like bamboo  
> propose to me  
> divorce me  
> divide me into your spirit 2 spirit half spirit  
> & shadow me w/ fluttering tongues  
> & caresses beyond head  
> heart chakras  
> fist smashing djembes  
> between my hesitations  
> haiku me into 17 bursts of blossoms & cold saki  
> de-ethnicize me  
> de-clothe me  
> de-gender me in brassieres  
> & prosthetic genitalias  
> burn me on a brazier  
> wearing a brassiere  
> in bitch braggadocio soprano bass  
> magnificat me in vespers  
> of hallelujah & amen  
> libate me in halos  
> heal me in halls of femmy troubadors  
> announcing my hiv status  
> or your status  
> i am not afraid to love you  
> implant dialects as if they were lilacs  
> in my ear  
> medicate me with a lick & a like  
> i am not afraid to love you  
> so demand me  
> reclaim me  
> queerify me
> 
> \- Regie Cabico


	8. The Fourth Week (part two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Steve's Last Day! Is this the end for Steve-and-Bucky? Or is this merely a segue into something bigger and better?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No specific warnings for this chapter, but you might die of fluff overload in one scene. You have been warned!

It was Friday on the fourth week of Steve’s assistant-ship, and that meant it was his last day working with Bucky. Bucky had been trying to work up to telling Steve how he felt about him all week, and today was his last chance. Bucky had no doubt that after Steve stopped working with Bucky, he would also stop talking to him. That was just what people did, and he had no reason to think that Steve would be any different, despite the tentative steps they’d taken towards a friendship outside of work in the last few days. 

When he stepped out of the elevator on his floor early enough in the morning that the main lights were still off, Bucky could see that the light was on in his office, which meant that Steve had arrived before him. Bucky paused, sighed to himself, straightened his shoulders and set his jaw. How would Steve act towards him today? Would he be friendly? Awkward? What if Steve had just been being polite, and now didn’t want to see him any more now that they didn’t have to work together after today? What if Steve secretly hated him, and couldn’t wait to get out of his office and back to Peggy and the art department, where he would be able to do work he was actually interested in, instead of toiling away in Bucky’s tiny, stuffy office sending poem after poem to the shit pit? 

No, he couldn’t think like that. The Bucky of a few weeks ago, the one who had ignored Steve’s attempts at interaction at the gym and caused Steve to subsequently ignore him for three days… that Bucky was not in charge any more. Today’s Bucky was determined to be brave, and being brave meant being friendly, even though his heart was pounding and he wanted to run and hide. He could do this. 

Bucky pushed open the office door. Steve was sitting at his desk already, looking up when he entered and smiling up at him in greeting. Bucky paused – because it wasn’t a good smile. The smile was tiny, more of a twitch than anything with real sincerity and emotional underpinning. Steve’s corn-blond hair was shining softly under the office lights, parted neatly on one side and styled away from his face. He was wearing a white shirt under a dark blue woollen jumper, and he looked neat and wary and far too alert for first thing in the morning. Bucky swept his gaze around the office but could see nothing that might make Steve look so guarded and unsure. It had to be his fault then. 

_Oh shit._

‘Morning Buck.’ The greeting was pushed out between those pink lips, the sound of that fond nickname hissed out in a flat, cold voice making Bucky shiver. He was right, Steve was pissed off and beginning to pull away from him already. 

_Oh shit._

‘Morning Steve,’ Bucky replied carefully as he crossed to his desk and dumped his coffee and bag down, ‘How’s it going?’

‘Oh I’m fine, you know. You?’

‘Yeah, uh, I’m fine, and you?’ _Shit._ ‘Ack! Ignore me – uh, so today’s your last day. Looking forward to starting your new job on Monday?’

Steve didn’t reply to that, just tightened the corners of his eyes and let his smile hang there on his face like it didn’t belong. Confused, Bucky sat down to start his days’ work. He couldn’t understand quite what was going on with Steve. This was their last week as office partners, Steve’s last week as his assistant, and he really wanted them to part on a high note in both their professional relationship and, well, as friends too. The tight lines on Steve’s face, the tension in his body, the scary nervy smiles, those were confusing as hell and definitely did not equal friendship, or even professional cordiality. 

_Maybe Steve really hated working with him all along and had been waiting to say something until his last day so that he could leave with a bang and get away without reprimand. That was what people did, right? People said one thing to your face and another behind your back. People were mean._

_But – Steve’s not people. Is he?_

Bucky sat at his desk and stared at Steve. Steve sat at his desk and stared right back at Bucky. After a long moment, Bucky was the first to drop his gaze with a short, loud exhale. It was definite, then. Steve hated him. Even when he was sick, the two of them had still managed to hold more of a conversation than this. _Shit._ Sighing to himself, Bucky put those thoughts aside to concentrate on reading a review of a new Wislawa Szymborska anthology that would be published in next month’s magazine. He had always liked Szymborska’s writing, and had even considered getting a quote from one of her many wistful, reflective poems tattooed on his body. He lost himself in reading the review, trying to decide whether the reviewer, Daisy, had made her review an honest appraisal of the collection. It was hard, reading another persons’ critique of a writer he personally loved, but that was part of his job. The ability to remove his own emotions, to assess the work dispassionately and give fair, unbiased feedback to Daisy on her work was one of the things that made him good at his job. Bucky lost himself in his work as a way to put aside his thoughts on Steve’s odd behaviour, until he was disturbed from his workflow by Steve himself stretching and rubbing the back of his neck. 

‘It must be coffee time by now, surely Buck?’

Bucky checked his watch. It was in fact far past the time that he should have taken a break, so he stretched his own arms in reply and nodded, a little afraid to speak in case he soured the tenuous, strained atmosphere from that morning into something worse. 

Steve stood, checking his pockets and pulling on his coat.

‘Well? Let’s go.’ He crooked an eyebrow at Bucky impatiently.

‘Oh – you want to go back to Bruce’s?’ Bucky couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice, and Steve blushed a little at that. 

_Is this OK? Are we OK?_

‘Uh – yeah, I thought – oh well if you don’t wanna, I can always bring you something back, but I thought you might want to take a break too?’ The bashful look on Steve’s face was something that Bucky couldn’t say no to, feeling his own hopes perk up a little as he noticed that Steve’s voice was calmer, his shoulders a little looser than that morning. Whatever had put Steve in a bad mood earlier that day, he hoped it had worked itself out. 

‘Sure I’d love to come, Steve. I got lost in my own head for a moment there, trying to get a review sorted out. Deadlines are hell, you know?’ 

Bucky pulled on his own dark blue peacoat, and together they headed out of the door and across the street to the nondescript alley and the familiar calm of Bruce’s coffee shop. 

 

Once settled with a caramel latte in hand – Bucky had recently given up trying to pretend he loved anything other than the syrupy sweet confections he could suck down in four seconds flat – Bucky was startled when Steve slid into their booth _beside_ him, not across from him. It felt intimate, reminding Bucky of the previous Friday when they’d been – when they’d had their first Almost Moment on a sofa in a dim, hot bar. 

‘So, Buck – coffee making things better for ya?’

‘Coffee makes everything better all the time, Stevie.’ When had he started doing that, calling Steve ‘Stevie’ – and when had Steve come around to the nickname?

Steve paused for a second. ‘Hey – you, uh, you gonna be at the gym on Saturday?’

_Oh no. Not this conversation._

‘Yeah, you know, I’m kinda busy on Saturday. Maybe next week?’

Steve’s face fell, his smile dropping like a pebble off a cliff. 

‘I think maybe – maybe you’ve been avoiding me.’

_DOUBLE SHIT._

Bucky looked around at Steve, who was propping his chin on his left hand in an imitation of casualness and staring at Bucky with a sudden confrontation brewing in his face like a storm far out at sea.

‘Steve, why would I be avoiding you?’ Bucky asked, his hopefulness swiftly flowing away.

Steve looked him straight in the eye. That was the Murder Kitten glare, right there, and it was being directed at him this time. 

_Triple fucking shit._

‘Because ever since I started working with you, you’ve been making excuses not to go, and when you are there, you don’t even talk to me. I kind of got the impression you worked out there a lot, since you have a group of friends there. But – not for the last few weeks.’

‘I’ve been busy, Steve, I told ya.’ Bucky couldn’t think, couldn’t get his stupid brain to work out a smoother lie than that. 

‘Look, I know that I’m not – I know that you don’t have to hang out with me outside of work. I’m not – I’m not that good company anyway’ Steve swallowed, then inhaled painfully and continued, ‘but I really liked hanging out with you on Tuesday, and last Friday, and I just thought that you’d maybe enjoyed hanging out with me, too.’ Steve’s voice, which had started out so strong, was barely more than a whisper. Bucky hadn’t been able to take his eyes off Steve while he spoke, pushing his hands through his now-mussed hair and crossing – uncrossing his arms. He looked lost, and looking at him Bucky felt like a ship wrecked on the teeth of Hurricane Steve. 

_Conversations with Steve went from zero to sixty really fucking fast. Was he always this intense or just when he wanted something?_

‘No, Steve,’ Bucky shifted around so that he was facing the other man and Steve was forced to look up square into Bucky’s face. It hadn’t occurred to him that his actions, his disinterest and forced distance had been hurting sunny, wonderful Steve. That thought was painful as needles under his nails. He had been thinking only of saving his own embarrassment, and in the process had created more of the tension he’d sought to avoid. 

‘No?’

‘No! I mean, yes, I mean yes I do enjoy hanging out with you. Its – I’m sorry, I’m messing this up…’

‘So you’ve been avoiding me because…?’

_Fuck. This punk will be the death of me._

Something akin to anger stirred in Bucky. _Defensiveness??_ How _dare_ this _punk_ make him feel so important and yet so damn _small_ at the same fucking time? Maybe it was time to get a few things off his chest so that Steve would see that he had his reasons for the avoidance, even if that meant he’d have to admit to it outright. When he opened his mouth to retort, it was with a lot more vehemence and authority than he’d meant to convey, but at least it would make Steve listen to him. 

‘Fuckin’ listen to me, Stevie. I fucking enjoy hanging out with ya. You are great fucking company, don’t doubt that. I’ve been… I’ve been a real idiot. I kinda thought, - ack! I just-’ Bucky paused, ran his hand through his hair distractedly because talking about this made him much more riled up than he’d thought, not meaning to start off so hard but _Steve had really got to him,_ ‘you can’t just _demand_ answers like that. Like – maybe there’s something going on with me that you don’t know about, like, like maybe that I’ve kinda been thinking about those other guys at the gym, about Brock, about what shit-stains they all are, and how they aren’t really my friends anyway, kinda just started hanging out with them just to have someone to work out with, y’know? And like how, well, I’m pissed off with myself because I didn’t realise how much of an asshole Brock was until I’d had to apologise for his behaviour to you. He was a real shit-kick, and sorry again, by the way, for not speaking up to him when I had the chance, that’s been killing me for a while now, and I’m not intending to keep on hanging out with them at all, and oh my god I have no idea where I was going with this fucking ramble. Look, Steve, if I avoided you it’s because… I’ve been ashamed of how I acted when we first met, ashamed of my so-called ‘friends’ and – and – trying to put off a confrontation with them. And – like – seeing you standing up to Brock just kinda brought it all home, that’s what I shoulda been doing all along, and I hadn’t been brave enough. I’m so, so fucking sorry if you thought that was a reflection on you – it wasn’t. I’m telling you that right now, it was not in any way a reflection on you. I thought, why would you want to hang out with me at the gym when I’ve been such an asshole to you? So – that’s it. I’m sorry. I’ve been stupid, but I – I’m just, sorry.’ 

Bucky dropped his hands, which had crept up to grip his hair again, down into his lap. They had started to tremble, so he clenched them together, feeling how the grip from his left was still so much weaker than his right. _Broken gears, clamped in place._ There it all was, out in the open for Steve’s consumption. The conversation, in their own private bubble tucked away in the corner of a quiet coffee shop, was intimate enough that he felt too warm and jumpy and like he wanted to run and hide. It was hard, picking the dirt out of your machinery and offering it up for inspection. 

Steve said nothing, so Bucky couldn’t say anything either. How could he, when he’d confessed to being an unthinking coward to this unwaveringly good man, who valued integrity and kindness and bravery and everything that Bucky wasn’t. The silence stretched on. Bucky nodded, just once. That was about right. People being people. Steve was just – being people. 

Slowly, Bucky turned back to his coffee, not making eye contact. He didn’t want to see the disappointment in Steve’s eyes, so to distract himself, he stretched so that his spine cracked and took a sip of his lukewarm caramel-flavoured coffee.

‘Buck.’

Bucky couldn’t help himself, he lifted his eyes to Steve, unease swooping low in his belly. What more could Steve possibly have to say to him? 

Now it was Steve’s turn to shift so that he faced Bucky full on. Mirroring their situation from the previous Friday, Steve moved a little closer so that his right thigh was nudged up against Bucky’s left knee, a grounding touch. Steve seemed unsure of what to do with his hands, twisting them in his lap before crossing them over his chest. 

‘Bucky, that’s – I don’t know what to say.’

‘Steve, you don’t – ’

‘Bucky. Let me talk.’

Bucky snapped his mouth shut, so relieved that Steve was still talking to him that he could pretend he wasn’t _really_ into Steve ordering him around.

_This is NOT THE TIME for that, Barnes!_

‘Bucky. You’re an idiot – no, I said let me talk – you’re an idiot for thinking that I wouldn’t want to hang out with you. And you’re not an asshole. That day we met, before Brock came over, do you remember that my asthma started acting up? And that you helped me out?’ 

How could he forget? That was what had got Brock’s attention in the first place. 

‘Well, you did. You didn’t even know me and you helped me out. And – let me be honest here, I know I can’t have made a great first impression, I practically told you to leave me alone, imagine how mortified I was when I found out I’d be working with you. I felt like I was the embarrassing one, but you didn’t hold that against me – ’ 

‘No! Steve, I would _never_ hold that against you!’ 

‘Exactly! Because you’re a good person. And I would never hold our first meeting against you, either.’ Steve said it gently, like he was calming a frightened animal. 

Bucky’s mind blanked and his mouth shut. 

_Steve thought he was a good person?_

‘I never looked at it like that. I kinda thought you’d hate me forever.’ He admitted. 

‘We’re not in _elementary school_ Buck. Now pinky shake on it and let’s be friends.’ Steve actually held out his pinky, the dork. Bucky grinned and held out his own in response. Bucky joined his left pinky to Steve’s right, the smallest link tethering the most important connection. 

Steve let out a sigh _– of relief? –_ at the contact. He peeled his eyes away from their hands, which had now let go of one another, and looked back at Bucky once more. 

Steve was – _holding out his hand??_

_Was he supposed to kiss it?_

_Shake it – of course, he was supposed to shake it! Idiot!_

Slowly, Bucky extended his hand and clasped Steve’s. It was warm, covered in artists’ callouses, and fit nicely into his own. 

‘So. Friends. You know, friends don’t let friends avoid the gym because of one asshole.’ 

‘Friends.’ He said, not quite believing it. 

Steve smiled, visibly relaxed. He gave Bucky his best _lets-teepee-the-professors-house_ look. 

‘Gym buddies?’ asked Steve, with a tiny glint in his eye. 

Bucky grinned, loud and wild and joyful. Anything, he would do anything for Steve. 

‘Gym buddies. I like the sound of that.’ 

Steve’s grin widened even more, and he leaned forward into Bucky’s space with a sinfully wicked expression on his beautiful face. His voice was low and intimate when he spoke next. 

‘I have an idea. Let’s show Brock that you don’t have to be Arnold Schwarzenegger to enjoy working out. I have a plan, and I need your help with it. 

‘Steve, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. Brock can be a real asshole.' 

‘Ah come on, Buck, I’m enlisting your services as my new friend in order to be my new gym buddy and convince your old gym buddy that even the – what did he call me – _“little guys”_ – are welcome in the gym.’ 

Bucky sighed, knowing that resistance was futile. Steve With A Plan had to be the bossiest creature on the planet, and Bucky would do anything for his new friend. 

‘Come on then, let’s hear it,’ he said, still a little reluctant to be enthused about this. Was this like, a test of friendship or something? If he failed this, would he and Steve go back to being not-friends? No, he didn’t think Steve was like that, but still… being roped into Steve’s Plan was a little terrifying, especially as it might involve standing up to Brock. 

Steve smiled again, leaned in even further, and explained The Plan. 

Bucky listened, eyes growing wider as he understood. 

~~~~~~~~~~ 

It was three minutes to five in the afternoon on Steve’s last day, and although part of him wanted to hoard the minutes that Steve was in his office, a large part of Bucky recognised that it was Friday and so felt justified in packing up a little early. Steve looked up at him form where he was already dumping the contents of his desk into boxes. 

‘Leaving early?’ 

Bucky looked at the clock in mock-surprise. 

‘Yep. Gonna take that three minutes I’m still being paid for to do absolutely fuck all.’ 

Steve grinned, and opened a desk drawer. 

‘Got a better idea. Spend it putting this –’ he brandished a small wooden box ‘ – to good use.’ 

‘Stevie? What am I gonna do with a box?’ 

‘No you idiot, what’s in the box?’ 

‘Steve – did you get me a… a present?’ Bucky asked, tone a little sharper than it needed to be. How was he going to cope with this little _punk_ getting him a gift? 'An apple for teacher?' he teased gently, wanting things between them to get back to their usual easiness. 

Steve blushed, suddenly seeming bashful, and held out the box to Bucky without looking him in the eye. ‘Fuck off,’ he started, ‘I just thought – I’ve actually enjoyed working with you, so…’ 

‘No need to sound so surprised, Stevie. I am a delight to work with.’ _Was joking around ok again now? That’s what friends did, right?_

‘Ugh, just open it, ya jerk.’ 

‘Punk. Give it here then.’ Bucky took the little wooden box and opened it, taking care not to let the contents fly out.  
Inside was an old-fashioned stamp, with a polished brass handle and a wide, flat surface resting on a blue ink-pad. Bucky picked up the stamp delicately to see what the design was. When he saw, he couldn’t help bursting into laughter. The stamp said, in curling, antique letters, “SHIT PIT.” 

Bucky’s laughter turned soft and devolved into a giggle. Without any thought for personal boundaries, he pulled Steve into a tight hug, the smaller man’s face crushed into his chest. 

‘Stevie! I LOVE it! Is this custom-made?’ 

‘Yeah, uh – I know a guy, Tony, he mostly works with metal but I asked him to carve me this one and I got some really funny looks when I was trying it out in his shop but I just thought, well, that you might appreciate it, it’s like the ultimate passive-aggressive statement of anger, and Tony makes these little metal boxes anyway and…’ Steve trailed off, aware that Bucky was letting him ramble on and on without stopping him. 

'Steve. Honestly, this is very thoughtful. You – man, you shouldn’t have. Thank you.’ 

‘It’s uh – it’s my pleasure. And thank you, you know, for not being as scary as you could have been.’ 

Steve’s smile was small, tentative. Awareness that the two of them were still standing close to one another pricked at Bucky’s consciousness, but he did nothing to move away. Steve had taken an inside joke and made it real, made it something to remember him by. Four weeks had flown by seeming like a few seconds and several lifetimes. He _knew_ Steve, knew the way he took his coffee, the look on his face when he read some particularly awful submission, the way his eyes sparked when he had A Plan, the way his shoulders tightened when he needed to use his inhaler, his opinions on breastfeeding and men and hipsters and Starbucks. The way his lips pinked in the cold. The way his mouth opened as he blew on his coffee. The way his thighs stretched and curved over the seat of a heavy motorbike. Steve Rogers knew him too which felt oddly like a privilege, and wasn't _that_ a terrifying thought? 

Bucky followed Steve out of the office in stunned silence, switching off the light so that the office fell into shadow. They rode down in the elevator together in an easy, light silence, not needing to fill the time with chatter.  
As the elevator pinged and they stepped out into the Stark Tower lobby, Steve turned to Bucky.  
‘So. Still in for The Plan tomorrow? I was thinking about asking Clint to join us at the gym, just for the day, to help out.’  
Bucky smiled to hide his hesitancy about The Plan. ‘Sure thing Steve, text me and let me know when you’re heading to the gym and I’ll meet you there.’  
Steve’s answering smile was sharp and wide. ‘I love it when A Plan comes together!’ he quoted, and Bucky pushed his shoulder good-naturedly. 

Things were going to be just fine. 

_Maybe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Twas I who nearly got a Szymborska quote tattooed on me. I still might. Not one from this poem, but a meaningful one nonetheless. If you are looking for beautiful, wistful, sophisticated words full of longing and reflection, you could do a lot worse than Wislawa Szymborska. Even if that's not your thing, just - do me a favour and read the last couplet? 
> 
> UNDER ONE SMALL STAR  
> My apologies to chance for calling it necessity.  
> My apologies to necessity if I'm mistaken, after all.  
> Please, don't be angry, happiness, that I take you as my due.  
> May my dead be patient with the way my memories fade.  
> My apologies to time for all the world I overlook each second.  
> My apologies to past loves for thinking that the latest is the first.  
> Forgive me, distant wars, for bringing flowers home.  
> Forgive me, open wounds, for pricking my finger.  
> I apologize for my record of minuets to those who cry from the depths.  
> I apologize to those who wait in railway stations for being asleep today at five a.m.  
> Pardon me, hounded hope, for laughing from time to time.  
> Pardon me, deserts, that I don't rush to you bearing a spoonful of water.  
> And you, falcon, unchanging year after year, always in the same cage,  
> your gaze always fixed on the same point in space,  
> forgive me, even if it turns out you were stuffed.  
> My apologies to the felled tree for the table's four legs.  
> My apologies to great questions for small answers.  
> Truth, please don't pay me much attention.  
> Dignity, please be magnanimous.  
> Bear with me, O mystery of existence, as I pluck the occasional thread from your train.  
> Soul, don't take offense that I've only got you now and then.  
> My apologies to everything that I can't be everywhere at once.  
> My apologies to everyone that I can't be each woman and each man.  
> I know I won't be justified as long as I live,  
> since I myself stand in my own way.  
> Don't bear me ill will, speech, that I borrow weighty words,  
> then labor heavily so that they may seem light. 
> 
> \- Wislawa Szymborska


	9. Steve's Plan (part one): The Night Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka The Plan Comes Together   
> aka It’s A Good Day To Die Hard (on the treadmill)  
> aka On Va Voir, Bitches  
> aka The Sanity Of The Plan Is Of No Consequence
> 
> Summary:  
> Steve and Bucky's tentative new friendship is moving along nicely. The night before he and Steve go to the gym together for the first time, Bucky contemplates everything that tomorrow could bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic now has more than 100 kudos, so as a little 'thank you' I'm posting this wee chapter a little earlier than I normally would. This is my first fic and I am so, so overwhelmingly grateful for everyone who has commented, bookmarked or left kudos on this fic. It's just really nice to connect with you all, no matter in how small a way that happens. 
> 
> This chapter is a little shorter than the others, because I'm splitting up one huge chapter into three smaller ones to avoid Writers Fatigue about the next chapter, which I've been trying to write for some time. 
> 
> Specific warnings for this chapter:  
> \- discussions of Bucky's mental state, anxiety and depression.  
> \- Bucky's feelings of anxiety about other people noticing and commenting on his left arm being visibly disabled  
> \- Bucky imagines having a panic attack in public. 
> 
> If these are uncomfortable topics for you, I have summarised the chapter and provided more information about the warnings in the end notes, so you can still keep up with the plot without having to read the details. This chapter is not really plot-driven anyway, more of a study of Bucky's thoughts.

The plan was simple, really. Brock looked down on anyone who wasn’t physically "perfect," spent hours in the gym chasing his own physical perfection, staring at his own reflection in the mirror as he pumped iron and making sure that other people were watching and listening to his oh-so-manly grunts of manliness. Bucky had even known him to throw out such phrases as “No pain no gains. You ready for yours?” Bucky cringed as he lay in bed on Friday night after saying goodbye to Steve, wondering at how he could ever have believed that he could keep his head down and think that he couldn’t hold Brock’s _entire personality_ against him just because he had never been a dick to him, directly. That was not a sensible way of dealing with things, Bucky knew, but he’d been so relieved that another person, especially someone as self-assured and confident as Brock, would want to hang out with him that he’d ignored everything else. Well, that philosophy had ended with Steve being insulted and Bucky trying to avoid him for the last month, which, hey, not a bad thing? Maybe?? Despite Steve being hurt? Bucky even found that he’d enjoyed taking time to work out by himself, something he never thought he would say. 

Anyway, back to The Plan. 

Simple. Yes, it was. The Plan allowed them to remain nonchalant, while still suggesting that they were getting immense amounts of glee from avenging Steve’s honour. The Plan was to just – go to the gym. Just go to the gym, Steve with his asthma inhaler and hearing aids, Clint with his hearing aids, and Bucky with his elbow in its brace. No-one doing anything out of the ordinary, but not trying to hide the things about them that Brock would see as defects, either. It was brilliant, really, how Steve had managed to come up with A Plan that was non-confrontational enough for Bucky to be ok with but that drove home their point and allowed him to feel a sick coil of Almost-Triumph, even now, hours ahead of the event. 

_Almost. After all, he would be wearing that fucking brace… in public… for the first time, ever._

Bucky shifted under the covers, trying to ease his spine into a straight line. His phone buzzed in the darkness next to his head, and he frowned as he groped for it, squinting his eyes as the sudden brightness. His notification screen informed him that he had a message. 

From: Steve  
**Hey Buck, just wanted to say, no worries if you can’t make it to the gym tomorrow. I know you’re busy on weekends, we can always re-schedule.**

Was Steve giving him a way out? Did Steve have so little faith in Bucky that he really thought he wouldn’t go through with this? Did Steve regret asking Bucky to join him already? 

From: Bucky  
**Heya Stevie, nah I’m still free tomorrow**

From: Steve  
**Awesome! See you there.**

What did that mean? Awesome? What was awesome? Was it awesome that he was still free tomorrow? That was a strong word to use for a plan that was already confirmed anyway. Steve must really have had a low opinion of him if he was so surprised that he was sticking to his word. 

From: Bucky Barnes  
**See ya Steve**

That was neutral enough, right? It was nearly midnight, he couldn’t be expected to be on sparkling form at this hour. Bucky put his phone back on his bedside table and smiled to himself. Bucky was the literary editor out of the two of them, but even he thought that Steve texted like a 90 year old grandfather. It was kind of cute how Steve texted in complete sentences with proper punctuation and sentences. Everything Steve did was kind of cute, really, in a totally Murder Kitten kind of way obviously. Bucky didn’t think that he’d survive calling Steve cute to his face and didn’t intend to put that theory to the test any time soon, but in the privacy of his own head, yes, he could call Steve _cute_ however much the fuck he wanted. 

Bucky sighed quietly into the silence of his room, trying to get himself to address _the thing_ he really, really didn’t want to think about. _The elbow brace._ He knew he needed to wear it, knew that there were times when he should have worn it, but wearing the brace, in public at least, felt like waving a giant neon sign over his head that read “ASK ME HOW I HURT MY ARM” and that would only invite memories of _the accident._ He really, _really_ did not want to talk about it. Even though he was _technically_ fine, losing your entire family in a train crash during what was meant to be a family holiday, fucking up your arm and having to return back to a lonely home-that-wasn’t with no-one who could chase away the nightmares was not the _best_ conversation topic. 

Bucky thought of breaking down in front of Steve and Clint when they inevitably asked him about it. He thought about panicking in front of Brock and Jack and Jasper and the whole damn gym, thought of people staring at him, gossiping and whispering and _judging._ Coming home after the accident, Bucky had been forced to be brave over and over again throughout his recovery, but this felt different. This felt like wrecking his ship on a reef in a storm, letting its’ precious cargo spill out of his hull and float away on the tide, out of control and seeking a friendly shore while he ran aground and splintered himself trying to get to shore. 

Thoughts of terror and darkness and sea spray haunting his thoughts, Bucky felt like he would never sleep. He existed in the darkness, going over and over tomorrow’s plan in his mind and trying out all the possible outcomes of the situation. Perhaps Brock had decided, after three weeks of Bucky not answering his texts, that he was just too much trouble and wasn’t part of the group any more. Perhaps he would smile and wave and be pleasant, having seen the error of his ways, apologise to Steve and invite them all out for a beer? 

 

_Hah._

 

It wasn’t as if Brock was totally unreasonable, right? Just a vain asshole with a superiority complex the size of a damn galaxy and a need to always be right. Plenty of people were like that, in Bucky’s experience, and _they_ didn’t go around making big scenes at the gym just because their buddies decided to work out with another friend, right? It was all gonna be fine, right? Right? 

_Everything had fucking better be fine,_ Bucky thought savagely, vague ideas of tucking Steve close to him and curling up around his small body swooping through his mind. But no - Steve would hate that, and wouldn't that make him as bad as Brock, thinking that Steve was a weak little thing that needed coddling? 

He’d heard that mother crocodiles sometimes had the urge to protect their babies by scooping them up in their mouths, because who’s going to climb inside an enraged mother croc’s mouth? Only sometimes, they panicked and ate their young, the urge to keep them safe jumbling the perception of everything else, and eventually leading to their undoing. What a strange thought to have at that moment. The way he felt about Steve was certainly not maternal, but he thought he understood those panicked instincts, nonetheless. Bucky mused that he would split himself open to give Steve a warm place to sleep. 

_Like Luke Skywalker sleeping inside that tauntaun??_

_...Ok, he could admit that was taking things a little too far._

He was exhausted, he had to be exhausted, because those thoughts were becoming jumbled together in his mind until Luke Skywalker rested in the mouth of the great ticking crocodile while Captain Hook wrecked his ship on the shore, lifeboats were swamped by giant waves swirling around in his sleep-dizzy brain, and he fell asleep thinking he could hear the crashing of the ocean in his ears…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The night before Bucky and Steve go to the gym together, Bucky lies in bed and contemplates Steve's plan. Steve wants to show Brock that people with disabilities, such as Bucky's left arm and Steve's asthma/ hearing loss, should still be welcomed into the gym and are still capable of taking care of themselves. Bucky is anxious because he perceives that this situation could bring about a confrontation between himself, Steve and Brock due to Brock's attitude toward people who Brock thinks of as 'less than perfect.' He wants to protect Steve from Brock while at the same time not wanting to fall into the trap of thinking that Steve cannot defend himself just because he is small and 'weak.' Bucky falls asleep feeling confused and anxious.
> 
> Warnings:  
> Bucky plans to wear a brace on his left arm in public when at the gym, something he has not done before as he does not want to draw attention to his injury, or have people ask him how he hurt his arm as this would bring up painful memories of his family's death. He thinks about becoming anxious/ having a panic attack in front of other people and imagines how they might react negatively to that. 
> 
> General warning for Bucky's feelings of anxiety, anger and inadequacy regarding himself, and his injury/ family death being alluded to in some detail. 
> 
> Note: I have tried to write this chapter in a way that will not cause hurt while discussing these topics. If, in your opinion, I have not managed to do that, please do let me know and I will try to fix it. Please understand that my intent is not to offend, so I apologise unreservedly if I have done so. 
> 
>  
> 
> No poem for this chapter, I just haven't had time to find one that I think fits.


	10. Steve's Plan (part two): Avengers Assemble At The Gym!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Plan Day. Do workout sessions with Steve usually contain this much violence, snark and sexual tension? Poor Bucky continues to be an adorably clueless little bean, and Steve continues to be a tiny firecracker who is not prepared for the sight of Bucky Barnes pumping iron (but really, is anyone prepared for that?).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: Ableism, ableist slurs, physical violence. See end of chapter for more notes.

When Bucky jolted himself awake the next morning, it was with the feeling that he hadn’t slept at all. He was tangled deep in his sheets, one arm flung over his head and one ankle hanging off the edge of the mattress. Grumbling to himself, he patted wildly at his bedside table to reach his alarm while at the same time trying to move as little of his body as possible. Eventually he succeeded in finding his phone with his left hand, only to have it drop onto the floor when his hand spasmed with early-morning shakiness.

Bucky groaned loudly and pull the finger in the vague direction of his fallen phone. Realising that this meant that he _really_ needed to move if he wanted to save himself from the shrieking alarm, Bucky untangled himself from the sheets and launched the top half of his body off the bed to finally quiet his fucking rude phone. 

_Fuck. Coffee. Fucking now._

Bucky slouched out of bed, not looking at his own reflection in his mirror. As much as he was mostly comfortable with his self-image, it was nice to pretend that he looked well-rested and sleep-tousled in a Hollywood sex-god kind of way, not like Oscar the Grouch had been strategically shaved and shoved into human clothes. He didn’t need that illusion shattered before he’d even had his first coffee, thank you very much. 

Caffeine and nicotine were two of the vices that Bucky had never been able to kick, and if he was quite honest with himself, he was ok with that. There would always be a part of him that _needed_ those things with a constant, aching pull that overwhelmed his self-preservation instincts, and besides, coffee and cigarettes made lonely sleep-addled Saturdays seem not quite as dark as they could be. Right now, though, things were looking pretty fucking dire, because his thoughts had returned to Steve’s Plan and _fuck,_ he couldn’t think about that in his pre-caffeinated state.

 

Bucky stepped outside to light up, enormous cup of steaming coffee balanced on the window sill. What was that stupid line again? The one about putting something with the power to kill you between your lips but not letting it? Fucking idiotic quote, fuck that shit, he thought as he lit his cigarette with perverse glee. Maybe he should put Steve between his legs and see how long it took him to expire from lust? Steve’s fucking thighs could definitely cause instantaneous death, whether they were wrapped around Bucky’s waist, or stretching over a heavy, purring motorbike, or curled up and resting against his own leg while Steve’s face got closer and closer to his own…

_Stop that! Get a fucking grip!_

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

The familiar routine of a solitary breakfast, laundry and cleaning did wonders to relax Bucky, but as he stared into his gym bag three hours later, he couldn’t help but feel the sharp tightening of nerves in his stomach. In the bottom of his gym bag, he’d shoved his metal elbow brace. It lay innocently under his towel, gazing up at him with suspicious indifference. Bucky, knowing all too well that he would lose any staring contest with that brace. 

_Wearing the brace in public. That’s happening today. Right._

Before his nerve could break, Bucky zipped up the bag, threw it over his good shoulder, and bolted out his front door. He was going to do this for Steve, because Steve needed him to. Left to himself, Bucky would have been content to keep his head down and go along with what he was supposed to do, but Steve was obviously the kind of guy who wanted to Make A Statement, whatever that meant. Bucky would go along with it, of course, to support Steve and be a good friend, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. 

~~~~~~~~~  
Steve and Clint were already changing when Bucky slipped into the locker rooms as quietly as he could. Clint saw him first and waved. 

‘Bucky! Good to see ya, man.’

‘Hey, Clint.’

Clint adjusted something small and bright purple that sat inside his right ear. 

‘Sweat-proof hearing aids.’ he explained, a little louder than normal, then reached up to the dial on the device. 

‘Neat.’ Bucky replied. Clint seemed so proud of showing off his hearing aid, it was… _encouraging?_

To distract himself from that complicated thought, Bucky switched his attention. ‘Hey - Steve.’ 

Steve turned, his face split into a smile of such genuine warmth that it warmed Bucky to just be in the same room as it. You could probably power the International Space Station suit with the wattage that smile gave off. Bucky couldn’t help returning it, but it was a paler version, not a smile of his own so much as a reflection of the other’s light, like the moon reflects the sun. 

‘Buck! How’s it going?’

‘I’m good, yeah Steve. You?’

Steve grimaced. ‘Yeah, good. I’m so ready for this.’

Bucky inhaled and leaned closer to Steve.

‘Steve - are you sure about this? You know you might be pissing off a whole bunch of assholes just to make a statement?’

‘Those guys are bullies, Buck. We gotta stand up to them, otherwise we become complicit in their world-view that tells them it’s ok to act like that. Besides, you have no idea what it’s like to be a _little guy,_ no idea the amount of times I’ve been forced to make a big gesture just to get people off my back. I can’t see that kinda stuff happening and do nothing. I just – _can’t.’_

‘But you don’t always have to be the one to make those statements, Stevie.’

‘Buck. I do. It’s - how I was raised. It’s how I’ve got this far, standing up for myself and anyone else who needs it.’

‘Steve, that’s - ’

‘It’s fine, Buck. Besides, it’s not like we’re gonna do anything incendiary. Just... go work out a little. Now go get ready, I wanna get started.’

Bucky shook his head as he turned back to his bag, pulling his gym shoes on stiffly. Steve _said_ they weren’t going to do anything incendiary, but Bucky was sure that Steve could get into a fight with anyone, about anything. He didn’t even have to _do_ anything, Steve just being his stubborn self seemed to invite conflict at every possible opportunity. 

_Ok, deep breath. This was it - Elbow Brace Moment. Ok. Ok, you’re ok. Pull it out of the case and adjust the padding and slip it past the wrist and - fuck - it always feels cold at first and it’s ok because you’re doing it, you’re doing it and it’s fine and it’s fine and… it’s fine. It’s all fine, just remember to lubricate the - oh jesus - you forgot about the lube you moron you’re never going to get it off now and it’s fine. It’s fine._

Once on his elbow, the brace itself didn’t seem that bad. It was a soft padded cup reinforced with overlapping metal plates that were designed to support the joint and stop any injuries he may get while lifting weights. He hadn’t worked out with it on since… well, since his last physical therapy appointment. Despite assuring his therapist that he would keep using it, it had sat unloved at the bottom of his gym bag ever since and Bucky was perfectly happy with that, thank you very much. 

Brace strapped in place, Bucky faced Steve and Clint, both of whom were already changed and ready to go out. Neither said anything about his brace, but he could feel their curiosity and attention like a physical weight on his left arm. _This was such a bad idea._ The brace was bulky and unwieldy, noticeably flashy and sometimes made an odd _ding_ when the metal plates came into contact with another surface. It was about the least concealable piece of equipment ever, not even able to fit under a long-sleeved top due to its’ bulk and metal parts. Beside which, it was _heavy._ If Bucky hadn’t already told Steve about _the accident,_ he had no illusions that one or both of the other guys would be questioning him about it right now. Bucky wondered if Steve had told Clint all about it, thoughts turning back to the both of them getting together and _gossiping and judging_ and…

Bucky cleared his throat loudly, and the other two snapped their eyes back up to his face. 

‘Shall we?’ he asked curtly.

‘Lead on, Captain.’ Clint bowed mockingly to Steve, who gave him a sharp but harmless Murder Kitten glare, grabbed a water bottle, and headed out onto the gym floor. Bucky rushed to catch him up, a small spike of adrenaline making his cheeks flushed and his steps clumsy. 

‘So Stevie, you wanna warm up with me?’

‘Hmm, what did you have in mind, Buck?’

‘I usually go for twenty on the treadmill, then bike, work up a good sweat then move onto the weights.’

‘Sounds good, let’s head over. Clint, you coming?’

‘Right behind ya Cap!’

‘As your commanding officer, Mr Barton, I will not tolerate such insubordination.’

‘Good thing you’re not my commanding officer Steve. You’re bossy enough as it is, without someone giving you a Captain’s uniform.’

‘Hey! I am not bossy!’

Clint’s answering snort was all the reply he needed to give. 

Bucky knew what they were doing, and he silently loved them for it. They all knew that he was the most nervous out of all of them about this Plan, knowing that neither Steve nor Brock were likely to back down from any arguments that might ensue, and so they were trying to lighten up the atmosphere. That’s what… _friends_ … did for each other. The short walk to the gym made Bucky’s heart rate climb, but most of the tension slipped out of him when he pushed open the door and saw that Brock wasn’t there yet. 

Bucky, Steve and Clint headed over to the treadmills, Bucky choosing the one against the left hand wall so that his brace wasn’t on display as much as it could have been. Steve chose the one next to him, and Clint was on Steve’s other side. Bucky, Clint and Steve grinned at each other as they sped up their respective machines, Clint only managing to trip over once but, surprisingly, making a graceful recovery. Once up to speed, Bucky relaxed. He knew this, knew the routines of running and breathing and pushing yourself. Once he broke The Plan down into its components, it turned out that it was going to be mostly running, and running wasn’t that hard at all. For one thing, running with Steve and Clint felt different to running with his previous gym buddies. For one, there was no overt “masculine” roaring and subtle checking out of their own bodies in the mirrors. There was no pressure, either, no sense of being constantly compared and ranked against everyone else in the group, just an encouraging, we’re-all-in-this-together vibe that Bucky realised he’d been craving. He could settle into his workout without worrying that his attention would wander and someone else would bench press more than him while his back was turned.

 

Now, his only problem was trying not to notice how goddamned _attractive_ Steve was when he was working out. Steve ran with an upright posture that flattened his spine and made his chest heave in and out, pumping his arms and sweating heavily despite only having been going for a few minutes. He was also making soft deep noises every so often that were going _straight to Bucky’s dick_ and makings thing very uncomfortable for him inside his compression shorts. Steve’s face was flushed and his hair was dishevelled, reminding Bucky strongly of the first day they’d met. He thought back - Steve had obviously pushed himself beyond what his lungs could deal with. Bucky would have to look out for him to make sure that didn’t happen again. Surreptitiously, of course, no need to risk activating the Murder Kitten when he didn’t need to. Bucky had to stop himself imagining pushing Steve against the wall and grinding against him, feeling their warm bodies slipping together while Steve’s face got redder and redder… Damn, now he was starting to chub up _in the middle of a workout_ like a _dickhead_ who got off to thoughts of _his friend_ working out like some kind of sex-crazed freak. Trying to think unsexy thoughts was doubly hard while he had to listen to Steve’s little grunts, but Bucky forced himself to keep his eyes on the wall and his thoughts on the job. 

After a light cardio session, the three men moved onto the weight machines. Bucky was pretty apprehensive about lifting with the brace on, but it actually did help to stabilise his elbow, and he found that he didn’t feel the bone twinges that he would usually experience while he pushed himself too hard to lift enough weights that he wouldn’t be called a ‘pussy.’ He found himself having some sort of weird competition with Clint, both trying to make the other laugh while spotting. With Clint pulling faces and Steve telling him an embarrassing anecdote about what he termed The Russian Incident, which Clint blushed furiously at and made him promise _never_ to tell Natasha, Bucky felt his brain finally begin to slip down from its anxiety-rattled ledge. He thought he would have laughed if he hadn’t been so out of breath. As it was, when he finished his set he sat up on the bench and did manage a small, breathless huff. Bucky looked up at Steve with a grin on his face, revelling in their shared joke, to find that Steve, although he hadn’t been lifting anything, still looked flushed and agitated. For a split second, Bucky saw that Steve’s pink lips sat ever-so-slightly open below his bright blue eyes which had gone very wide as he stared. Then, as soon as Steve registered Bucky’s attention, those lips pursed and Steve’s face smoothed out into careful blankness. 

_What had gotten Steve to look like that?_

Bucky looked over both shoulders to check that Brock hadn’t arrived, but the gym was still mostly empty. Bucky ran a hand through his hair, trying to remember if he’d said anything that might have offended or surprised Steve, but could recall nothing. Oh well. He’d have to hope that whatever he’d done, Steve wouldn’t hold it against him. 

To cover his confusion, Bucky offered to spot Steve while he lifted, watching carefully how much weight Steve packed on and just stopping himself from offering to help when Steve’s arms shook just trying to lift the weights to slide onto the bar. He was impressed. Although nowhere near the amount of weight that he and Clint had lifted, Steve must have been stronger than he looked to deal with the amount of weights he had packed on. 

‘Steve, you sure you got this? That’s a lot of weight you got there.’

‘Don’t baby me, Buck, I can cope.’

‘I know Steve, I’m just checking on ya. Don’t wanna see you pancaked on the bench.’

‘If I am pancaked it’ll be your fault for not spotting me. Now stop hovering and get over here.’

‘Yes sir, Cap’n sir.’ Bucky threw a teasing salute and moved to stand at Steve’s shoulder.   
Steve lay down and wriggled into place. He wrapped one hand loosely around the bar, then paused. 

‘This must seem like a tiny amount of weight to you, but – just…’ Steve closed his eyes briefly, ‘Just remember that for me, this is a lot. I can’t lift weights as much as you obviously do.’

‘Well I’m not expecting you to bench press a whole helicopter or something, Steve.’ Bucky replied, trying to cover up his confusion at what sounded like Steve had been noticing him… lifting weights. 

_Well of course he’s noticed. You are gym buddies now, after all. Don’t flex don’t flex don’t flex…_

He could rationalise that. There was no reason for Steve to be checking him out or anything. 

‘Why a helicopter? Seems unnecessarily awkward, if you ask me. I’ll just stick to lifting paintbrushes and coffee cups.’ Steve teased, and settled himself into position for the first lift. 

_Oh fuck,_ if Bucky thought that Steve’s running noises were distracting, they were nothing compared to his weight-lifting noises. Steve made deep grunts and hard sighs and little strained gasps as he pumped his arms up and down. It was fucking distracting. When the gasps became a little more ragged and a short whistle escaped him, Bucky lifted the weights away from Steve and told him to sit up and take a puff of his inhaler. Steve glared, a real honest-to-god Murder Kitten stare, and replied curtly ‘I’m fine, Buck.’ Bucky let that one go because – _ok, Steve knows his own limitations better than you do, just trust him and let him do his thing - ok no those whistles were a little worrying_ – ‘Stevie? You sure you’re ok there, bud?’ – _oh fuck where was Clint?_

Steve didn’t answer, but tried to lift one more time. Bucky watched him push himself, far beyond what he should have been doing, knowing that he hovered like a nervous mother but unsure how to get Steve to stop without overstepping his boundaries. In the end, Steve decided for him when his arms started to shake and his gasps became desperate. Bucky sat Steve up, thrust his hand into Steve’s pocket without regard for awkwardness, and pushed the blue inhaler into Steve’s hand. Steve shoved it into his mouth, inhaled wheezily, held the breath then let it out while Bucky stood over him and made sure he took another puff just to be sure. 

‘Steve? You ok? You don’t have to answer me if you can’t but gimme a sign here. Anything.’

‘I’m fine, asshole.’ Steve’s voice came out squeaky and wavering, like a clarinet played through a broken reed, and Bucky crouched down in front of him and placed a steadying arm on his shoulder. Steve’s eyes were clear and narrow, his fists balled. Ack, those were all the signs of a classic Steve Outburst. 

‘Hey, why am I an asshole for taking care of you? Stevie, you can’t push yourself this far. You need to be careful.’

‘Don’t tell me what to do!’

‘Steve, I’m not saying this to upset you, jeez, I’m just trying to look out for you!’

‘Well, don’t! I don’t need to be looked out for, I’m fine on my own!’ Steve’s breathing was getting a little less regular, and Bucky’s eye flitted back to the inhaler he still held.

‘Steve, even if - ’

‘Barnes! Haven’t seen you in an age, man.’

_Oh Brock you have the worst timing in the world!_

‘Brock. Not a good time, buddy.’ Bucky straightened up to face Brock, who had managed to get behind him without him even knowing.

Brock scoffed and clapped a hand on Bucky’s left shoulder. ‘No word from you for almost a month and it’s _not a good time?_ Priorities, man!’

Bucky turned back to Steve, offering him his inhaler in a clear show of exactly where his priorities lay. Bucky clasped Steve’s arm and helped him stand. Only once he was sure that Steve was fine and scowling a normal Steve-like scowl at Brock did he turn back.

‘Been busy, man. You remember Steve?’

‘Yeah man, Steve, whatever. So where ya been, huh Barnes? I thought we were buddies but it looks like you’ve been holding out on us.’ Brock stepped closer, tightening his grip. His eyes snapped down to Bucky’s arm brace, unmissable even to the most unobservant person.

‘You fucked yourself up a bit there, buddy?’

Bucky gritted his teeth, very aware of Steve tensing beside him. He really, _really_ needed this situation to calm down before Steve needed to use his inhaler again. He stepped out from under Brock’s hand, forcing a smile onto his face that he hoped was casual and easy. 

‘Old injury, Brock. And like I said, work’s been busy.’

‘Huh.’ Brock seemed to have gotten bored with Bucky’s stilted conversation, as he turned to offer his hand to Steve, actually acknowledging his presence for the first time.

‘I’m Brock.’

Steve looked at his outstretched hand, and for one crazy moment, Bucky thought Steve might slap it away, but instead he reached out with his own hand and shook.

‘Woah! Hellova grip you got there, little buddy. No need to squeeze me too hard, I promise you I’ll be intimidated by you already.’ 

Bucky tried to laugh as though Brock had made a hilarious joke, but it came out too high and loud. Bucky was frantically trying to signal Steve with his eyes to break off the handshake and come away, but Steve actually pulled Brock closer and slapped him on the arm with his free hand. 

‘What can I say? I’m an intimidating guy.’

The next second there was electric, furious eye contact between Steve and Brock, so intense that Bucky would honestly not be surprised to see lightning sparks. Brock, to Bucky’s immense amusement, raised his chin and drew back his hand like it had been burned after the intensity of the eye contact grew to practically _eye-fucking_ levels. Was that some kind of crazy display of dominance? Male lions fighting over a carcass? _Was he the carcass?_ A crazy image of Steve making out with Brock against the gym wall flashed across his brain. Urgh, why did aggression read so much like sexual tension in these guys? _Maybe he’d been wrong, maybe Steve and Brock would team up against him…_

Bucky angled himself subtly to be at Steve’s back and patted Steve’s shoulder lightly.

‘Steve, let’s go. Come on, we’ve lost Clint.’

That seemed to break Steve out of whatever unspoken battle for dominance was going on between him and Brock, but he didn’t move away. 

‘Come on, Steve,’ Bucky said again, a little more urgently, ‘see ya round, Brock.’

‘What, you too good to work out with us any more, huh?’ Brock swung his gaze up to Bucky’s and he grinned cockily. The _old Bucky_ would have ducked his head at that point and meekly denied it, anything to keep the peace. The _new Bucky_ screamed in his mind that _if Brock thought he was an easy target, he was in for a rude awakening._

 

‘I’m enjoying hanging out with my friends at the moment. Being too good for you has nothing to do with it, I just don’t enjoy your company that much.’

Bucky’s carefully neutral tone did nothing to disguise the venom in his voice. 

_When had he stopped caring about keeping the peace and started wanting to smack the smile off Brock's face?_

Brock continued to smile his cocky smile. 

‘What? Man, after all I’ve done for you, this is what you really think of me? I made you better, man, I built you up. You were nothing when you started here All of this-’ he grabbed Bucky’s right bicep and pinched it hard, ‘-this is all because of me. You’re nothing without me.’

‘Hey! You are way outta line there. I think you should apologise right now!’ That was Steve, practically vibrating with anger at the insult to his friend. 

‘Brock, he’s right, that was uncalled for. And you’re wrong, by the way. You didn’t make me anything, except make me sure that I want nothing more to do with you. And get your _fucking hand off me!’_ Bucky wrenched his right arm out of Brock’s grip and away from him. His frustration and anxiety and protectiveness had boiled over into a numb rage and now he just wanted Brock to get the hell away from him.

‘Hey, man. I just say what I see. Fucking cripple and his runty guard-dog trying to start something, when-’

_OH HELL NO._

Steve snarled and pushed Brock hard in the chest so he took a step back. Brock made a fist and swung a wild hit, landing on Steve’s left eye. Steve punched Brock right back in return, connecting high on his cheekbone and making the larger man stumble back a few paces even if the punch hadn’t been that hard.

‘Don’t you _ever_ fucking call him a cripple!’ Steve shouted, and moved forward as if to follow up with a second hit, but Bucky got there first. Bucky reigned in the urge to follow up with another punch to Brock's face, but did give him a hard shove with his left arm, using all his weight to his advantage. Brock stumbled back, Bucky looming over him as he sat down hard on the floor. 

‘And don’t you _ever_ fucking call him a runt either, motherfucker!’ Bucky was so angry he couldn’t see straight. Beside him, Steve was panting hard and raising his fists, clearly ready to continue, and that was what made Buck take a mental step back and clear his head. 

‘Steve! Come on, let’s go. This asshole’s not worth our time.’ Bucky pulled Steve away from a shocked-looking Brock, throwing his left arm haphazardly around Steve’s shoulders and practically dragging the smaller man out of the gym and back into the locker room as fast as he could. When the door was safely closed behind them, Bucky finally managed to breathe out slowly, and released Steve. Steve was panting hard, keyed up from the adrenaline. He stood in front of Bucky, five feet of piss and vinegar who hit a man twice his size just for calling Bucky a _cripple,_ for fucks sake, and to whom Bucky had never been more attracted. 

***************  
‘What the fuck, Steve? You ok?’

‘Will you _stop_ asking me if I’m ok? Just because I’m smaller than you doesn’t mean I’m fucking weak!’ The adrenaline of their confrontation was still zinging through both men, making them bold and loud and prickly.

‘Steve. Brock hit you, in case you were so busy being a big damn hero you didn’t notice. I don’t think you’re fucking weak, alright? So stop saying that bullshit. I would be just as worried if it was Clint in your place. Brock packs a fucking mean punch.’

Steve sighed, all the fight going out of him like a deflating balloon. 

‘I’m sorry Buck. You may have noticed that’s kind of a touchy subject for me.’

‘Stevie, it’s ok. I can tell,’

‘I’m sorry I’m so… so fucked up, Buck. Thanks for having my back all the same.’

‘Steve, you don’t have to apologise for that. Brock touched a nerve, it’s alright to be angry. And - likewise. About the having-your-back thing. Thanks.’

For a second, Steve and Bucky stared at each other, both of them feeling calmed by the presence of the other. 

Steve grinned. ‘It was pretty satisfying, right?’ He said as he packed up his bag, neither of them bothering with a shower so that they could get out of there faster. 

‘Hell yeah it was! The look on his face when you punched him, Steve, it was a thing of beauty. I swear I heard angels sing.’

‘Ha! Listen Buck, I know that didn’t exactly turn out like you planned, I know you wanted to keep things peaceful, but it means a lot to me that you did have my back in there. Really. Not many people will stick their neck out, least of all for me, so. That was – it was really nice of you.’

Bucky and Steve walked out of the gym in silence.

‘Well someone’s gotta pull your ass out of the fight. I seem to remember you saying that if you got pancaked it would be my fault?’ Bucky teased as they crossed the parking lot.

‘That was weight lifting, Buck!’

‘Same principle applies, I’m a hell of a spotter.’ Bucky grinned provocatively as they reached his car.

‘That you are.’ Muttered Steve, so quietly that Bucky almost didn’t catch it. 

‘Steve?’

‘Bucky, you’re – well. You’re a good guy, a good friend.’

Bucky blushed furiously. ‘I’m just trying to keep you from getting your face bashed in.’

‘Many others have tried and failed. Where the hell did Clint get to, by the way? Where was he when all this was going down?’

‘No idea. Probably got distracted by a dog or something.’

‘That sounds like Clint! Hey – uh, Bucky? You can say no, but – fuck I feel like I need a strong drink after that. Wanna grab one later?’

‘Stevie, you told me you don’t drink!’

‘Well I don’t, but you don’t know that I meant a strong alcoholic drink. I could have been talking about strong _tea_ , for all you know.’

‘You are such a punk, Rogers. Yeah. I could go for a beer. Maybe keep me away from the cocktails though, I didn’t get to do my normal work out today and I’m watching my figure.’

‘Bucky, as if. Shut up, you know you’re – ’ Steve stopped all of a sudden, face suddenly a beetroot colour as he shoved a hand in front of his mouth.

‘I’m what, Steve?’ 

_Had Steve been about to say… that sounded like he was about to say… that I’m…_

Steve’s face had become even redder, if that was at all possible. They’d reached Bucky’s car and were standing against the side where they were a little sheltered from the wind.

‘Th-that you’re, um, that –’

‘Yes?’

Steve appeared to give up trying to talk. His shoulders drooped and he let his arms fall to his side, his head hanging down. He looked for all the world like a cut flower wilting in the vase, the picture of dejection.

Steve swallowed. ‘Never mind.’

Bucky paused for a second as he tried and failed to gather up the courage to say what he thought Steve’s sentence would have been.

‘Right. So – I’ll see you later for drinks, then?’

Steve let out a long sigh. He seemed to be having an internal struggle, maybe deciding whether to say something? Did Steve know that all he had to do was say the word, and Bucky would be his? 

‘Yeah. I’ll text you.’ Steve turned away, still looking like the world sat on his shoulders. 

‘Hey Steve! At least let me give you a lift?’

Steve look marginally happier when he turned back. 

‘Sure. Thanks, pal.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Brock uses the slur "cripple" to describe Bucky after seeing his arm brace, and refers to Steve as a "runt." This results in Steve, Brock and Bucky getting into a fight. The fight is not described graphically, and it is only a few sentences long. If you would like to skip that part, stop reading when Steve asks Brock to apologise to Bucky, and pick up after the asterisks. 
> 
> Again no poem for this chapter, I was looking for a good one about vanity or forgiveness or ego, but I couldn't find anything that really spoke to me. If anyone has any suggestions, feel free to drop a line in my inbox or come and see me at my tumblr - I'm kateyfish over there. 
> 
> I did find this quote from Oscar Wilde though, which I thought was pretty relevant :)
> 
> "Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much."


	11. Sorry Peggy, but Steve's gotta know...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is anyone ever prepared for flirty Steve?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say quickly - this fic has over 3000 hits now. That means 3000 of you have read this and that's so much more than I ever expected (tbh wasn't sure I was ever gonna post it because didn't expect people to like it??) and so I wanna say how much I appreciate you. All of you. Every hit, kudos and comment is wonderful. Thank you.

The bar was dimly-lit and loud, as bars tend to be on a busy Saturday night. Steve was already at the bar when Bucky arrived, sitting with his back to the door so that Bucky saw him first. Steve’s hair was neatly combed, he was wearing a slate-grey button-down and light jeans, with his leather jacket thrown over a barstool. He was leaning forward, glass in hand, talking animatedly to Clint and the woman – Natasha – who had pulled Clint up after he crashed Bucky and Steve’s Almost Moment at Clint’s birthday. Bucky smiled at the way Steve gestured with his free hand when he talked, and approached them. When Clint saw him, his eyes widened and he made a tiny hand gesture. Steve stopped talking and turned around.

‘Buck! Hey man, good to see ya!’ Steve’s face looked a little flushed from the heat of the bar but he was still breathtakingly attractive. 

‘Heya Steve, hey Clint. Hi, I’m Bucky.’ Bucky stuck out a hand to Natasha, who smiled faintly at him and shook his hand. 

‘So where did you disappear to today, Clint?’ Bucky asked once he was settled on a stool with a drink in his hand.

‘Oh man, I tripped over the edge of this mat, and then –’

‘One of the floor mats? How’d you manage that?’  
‘It was in a funny position, Ok? Anyway so I went to grab some water and then I saw this puppy, you guys it was so cute, just sitting outside and waiting for its’ owner, so I went to say hi, but then I tripped over the door mat –’

‘I think I’m seeing a pattern here.’

‘– Shut it, Rogers. Anyway, so I guess I scared the puppy because it started barking, and I was trying to calm it down, and people were staring, and it all went to hell in a hand basket from there. The owner was not very happy when she came out and found her puppy barking furiously at me, causing a hellova commotion. Told me I was a nuisance, if you can believe that.’

‘Clint Barton: Public Nuisance. Somehow, that title fits you perfectly.’

‘For that, Steve, you’re going down. So Bucky, you finally got to meet Captain America today, huh?’

Steve choked on a sip of his drink, looking as red as he had earlier in the car park. Bucky burst into laughter. 

‘Clint! That is a terrible nickname and you know it!’

‘No, no Steve, it’s perfect. Really, it’s so _you._ ’ Bucky giggled.

‘Shut up you jerk.’

‘Punk. Come on then, tell me all about Captain America. Is he here to protect Truth, Justice and the American Way?’

‘I hate you guys.’

‘No you don’t. You love us. We’re your best friends. Captain America, Bucky, rescues cats from trees, he walks old ladies across the street, he – mmph!’

Steve had succeeded in plastering a hand across Clint’s mouth, effectively shutting him up. 

‘Bucky doesn’t want to hear about Captain America! Ok, let’s move on!’

‘No, Bucky has to hear about when –’ Clint managed to wrestle Steve off him for a second. Bucky was laughing too hard to be of any help, and Natasha just sat back and watched the two guys shoving each other, a serene smile on her face. 

‘About Captain America and the Great Fondue Caper!’

‘No! Bucky doesn’t want to hear about that old story!’

‘Well now that you’ve said that, I’ve decided that I absolutely _do_ need to hear it!’

Steve groaned and dropped his head onto the bar with a _thunk._

‘Why did you have to bring that up, Clint? It was _one time,_ man!’

‘And it shall live on in legend.’ Clint grinned and proceeded to tell them all about the Great Fondue Caper, a highly unlikely tale involving an aeroplane over Paris, Captain America being a little self-sacrificing idiot, and a comically large fondue pot. Bucky listened, smiling and laughing along in all the right places. He was enjoying himself so much, he realised, that his usually intense awareness of his situation and the surrounding crowds had fallen away. He really was enjoying Clint and Nat’s company, loving how relaxed Steve was around them. Clint and Nat seemed to complement each other so well, Natasha deadpanning her way through her comments while Clint joked and smiled and gently ribbed right back, each perfectly countering the other. Bucky was a little jealous, he could admit that, but unlike when he had met Peggy and Angie a few weeks ago, he was no longer bitter about anyone else’s happiness. His own outlook had slowly begun to change from the cynical, isolated man he had been, and now he could only be grateful that Steve and his group of friends had accepted him seamlessly.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Despite having such a good time, by 11 pm Bucky was yawning and Steve looked dead on his feet. The days’ adrenaline and excitement had worn off and now Bucky was feeling a little ragged, the strain of spending so much time around other people finally catching up to him. Clint and Nat had said their goodbyes a while ago, so it was just him and Steve leaning together on their bar stools. When Bucky almost dislocated his jaw with an extra-large yawn, Steve glanced at his watch. 

‘Pretty beat, huh? Me too pal. Guess I should head home.’

‘Being Captain America is a tiring occupation, huh?’

‘Oh no, not you too. I’m gonna kill Clint. But yeah, I am kinda tired.’

‘Yeah, let’s head out.’

The two friends paid their bill and headed for the door. Once outside, Bucky buttoned up his coat. It was nearly November and the nights were freezing. Bucky surreptitiously checked that Steve was tucked into his overcoat and scarf. Bucky’s hand twitched towards where his crumpled packet of smokes lay in his coat pocket, but he didn’t light one up. 

‘How you getting home, Steve?’

‘I think I’ll just catch the subway, I don’t live far. You?’

‘I’ll walk. I live really close and I kinda need to clear my head.’

‘Well, see you on Monday then, I guess.’

_Come home with me.  
Please, just let me hold you and make sure that you’re alright after today._

‘Yeah. See ya, Steve.’ Bucky turned away, pressing his lips together to stop the words that filled his brain from tumbling out. Before he had taken five steps, however, he heard Steve calling out his name and turned back in surprise. 

‘Hey, Buck?’

‘Steve?’

‘I know I said this before, but – thank you. Again. For today, for having my back but also for – for – oh, you know what I’m trying to say. I mean, fuck, I’m so used to being the one who has to make a stand on my own, it was real nice having you there.’ Steve walked back to stand close to Bucky, looking a little bashful.

That was A Moment, wasn’t it? A whole Moment, just for him. The atmosphere felt crystal-fragile, everything that was not-Steve spinning off into fractals. Bucky breathed out delicately, afraid to shatter it. He hoped he would say the right thing. 

‘I’ve always got your back, Stevie.’ Bucky gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and Steve did nothing but smile right back, his eyes softening. The Moment stretched as they stared into one another’s eyes. For the first time Bucky did nothing to hide all the want and admiration he felt, hoping that his eyes could convey the words his mouth never got the courage to vocalise. For the first time, Bucky thought he maybe saw an answering sentiment in Steve’s eyes. Steve’s mouth opened and his breath quickened almost imperceptibly. 

The honk of a nearby car horn shattered the Moment, and Steve almost jumped backwards to put two feet more space between him and Bucky. 

‘Ok then.’ Steve looked for a moment as though he would move closer to Bucky again, but locked himself in place. That _Ok then_ sounded a lot like it was meant to be something else.

Bucky swallowed. _Never? Or now?_

‘Ok then.’ Bucky agreed, a little weakly. 

Steve looked down at his feet for a moment, took a step away, then jerked his head up and took a decisive step towards Bucky with a determined set to his face. 

‘Fuck it, sorry Peggy but I gotta fuckin’ know–’ Steve muttered to himself, moving quickly up to where Bucky stood rooted to the spot.

Before Bucky could even squeak, Steve had stepped into his space, cupped his jaw in one hand and drawn himself up to plant a soft but firm kiss square on Bucky’s lips. 

As their lips met, Bucky’s internal monologue went wonderfully silent for a long, golden moment. The world around them rushed away leaving only the two of them surrounded by a cocoon of quiet. Steve’s mouth was cool from the night air, his lips every bit as soft as they looked. Bucky tentatively wrapped his right arm around Steve’s waist and pulled Steve closer to him. They kept the kiss chaste, pulling away from each other as the world trickled back in around them. Bucky took in Steve’s dazed expression, felt his warm thumb still tracing along his cheekbone. As they parted, Bucky and Steve made eye contact for one brief moment before Bucky had to look away. He couldn’t help himself, he _giggled_ from the relief and the release of tension and the sheer absurdity of Steve Rogers kissing him in the middle of the sidewalk in Brooklyn, where everyone could see.

‘Bucky? What’s so funny?’ A Murder Kitten Glare was brewing, Bucky could tell. He held up his hands in surrender to quiet the storm.

‘Steve, I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you. It’s just – I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.’

‘Oh. Yeah, me too.’

_Oh._

_Oh!_

_Oh! he was such an idiot. Such a fucking idiot!  
Oh! he’d been shying away from taking this step with Steve for weeks now out of a belief that Steve didn’t want this. Turns out this was just one more thing about Steve that was unexpected and surprising and wonderful._

Warmth from Steve’s hand soaked into Bucky’s skin, chasing away the cold of the October night. Bucky could feel Steve’s thumb resting just underneath his cheekbone, tracing back and forth over his light stubble. 

‘That ok?’ Steve whispered.

Bucky couldn’t speak with the _want_ and _hope_ that bubbled in his chest, nodding and tilting his head to nuzzle into Steve’s hand ever so slightly in the hope that Steve would know what he meant anyway. He still hadn’t broken Steve’s gaze. 

This time it was Bucky who drew Steve in, moving slowly as though afraid to spook him, closer and closer until their faces were only inches apart and Bucky could see Steve close his eyes through his own half-lowered lashes. Their second kiss was gentle and sweet, again nothing more than a chaste press of lips on lips, but somehow still the best and most intimate kiss Bucky had ever had. When they pulled away, both men were panting, just a little. 

Bucky pushed his hair back from his face and drummed up every last scrap of his courage.

‘Stevewillyougoonadatewithme?’

_Oh shit! Oh shiiiiiiit! Too far! Abort mission! Run away!_

‘What was that?’ Steve was smiling now, a teasing shit-eating grin that Bucky longed to kiss off his face.

Bucky breathed shakily, in and out a few times. 

‘Steve, do you, uh, would you, I mean, if you don’t want to its ok, but if you do, it’d be, well, what I mean is, Steve, would you uh, would you – Agh! I mean, a date. Steve, can I take you on a date? Tomorrow? For dinner? I mean, please?’ Bucky gulped in as much air as he could and held it there, afraid to breathe loudly in case it put Steve off. 

Steve paused for a second, looked at Bucky out of the corner of his eyes and raised one eyebrow. 

‘Yeah, I’d like that,’ he said after a beat. 

Bucky exhaled loudly. 

‘Oh thank fuck. You had me worried for a second.’ Bucky hugged Steve tighter.

Steve chuckled and brought his left hand up to grip Bucky’s shoulder. 

‘I just – I wasn’t sure that you liked me.’

Bucky’s internal voice laughed hysterically at that. _Mixed signals, mixed fucking signals you idiot. This is all your fucking fault._

‘Steve, I definitely do like you.’ _Oh shit was that too fond?_ ‘I just – I wasn’t sure that you liked me.’

‘Well I don’t share my coffee with just anyone, Buck. I’m a real subtle guy.’ Steve deadpanned.

Bucky giggled a little at that - _no it wasn’t a giggle shut up!_ – Because really, Steve wasn’t subtle in anything he did, ever. 

‘I knew it! I _knew_ you were checking me out in the gym earlier!’

‘That was my _most subtle_ moment so far.’ Steve raised his eyebrows as though imparting a secret.

‘Even I caught that one, Steve. You’re hardly a trained assassin when it comes to subtlety.’

‘Then why’d it take you so long to catch on, huh?’

Bucky found that he didn’t actually have a good answer for that one.

‘I didn’t – I just – we got off to such a bad start, and I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable at work, and then I didn’t – didn’t want to get my hopes up.’ he mumbled, trailing off miserably. He dragged a hand back through his hair and tried to look anywhere but Steve’s face as he blushed fiercely. It had cost him so much to give up that small confidence to Steve that his brain and heart felt like he was on the comedown from a caffeine binge. 

‘Buck – you didn’t. Make me uncomfortable, I mean.’ Steve peered up at Bucky shyly through his eyelashes, eyes and smile gentle, and Bucky thought that Steve looked positively angelic. His own heart fluttered a little. _Too raw. Too soon. Tactical retreat. The last thing he wanted to do right now was come on too strong and make Steve reconsider._

‘I – Steve, thank you, I – it’s late… I should get home.’

Steve nodded and took a step back. The sudden withdrawal of his physical presence made Bucky shiver, but he covered it up by drawing his coat collar tighter as if to ward off a passing night chill. 

Steve thrust his hands into his own coat pockets. His face lost the softness that their intimate conversation seemed to have unlocked, and grew mischievous.

‘Oh I am gonna date the hell out of you, Bucky Barnes.’

‘I’m ready to be dated, Stevie Rogers. I think I can handle it.’

‘Do you?’ Steve asked with a quirk of his eyebrow.

Bucky blushed again because _aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh he was not prepared for flirty Steve!!_

‘Steven Rogers, I am not that kinda gal. That’s against the rules, at least lets have dinner first!’

‘Rules are made to be broken, Buck!’

‘Urgh! Get outta here you punk!’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow then, dollface!’ Steve called out as he started to walk away. 

‘It’s a motherfucking date, Stevie!’ Bucky was soaring, unable to keep the dopey smile off his face. 

‘Yeah, finally!’ was Steve’s reply, called over his shoulder as he hurried down the dark street.

_Dammit, now he’d let Steve get the last word!_

Bucky didn’t mind that so much because _he had a date with Steve!!_  
Oh god, he had a DATE with Steve. FUCK! He had a date with STEVE, and if Steve could reduce Bucky to a confused pile of jelly with just a kiss and a hand on his face, how would he handle a whole date?  
Bucky couldn’t stop smiling to himself as he tucked his hands into his pockets and almost ran home, his steps light and his heart jumping.

_He had a date! With Steve!_

_Oh shit, he had a fucking DATE with Steve!!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THEY KISS :)
> 
>  
> 
> From: LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY
> 
> See! the mountains kiss high heaven,  
> And the waves clasp one another;  
> No sister flower would be forgiven  
> If if disdained its brother;  
> And the sunlight clasps the earth,  
> And the moonbeams kiss the sea:–  
> What are all these kissings worth,  
> If thou kiss not me?
> 
> \- Percy Bysshe Shelley


	12. A Brief Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking a break from Bucky's POV to bring you Steve and Peggy being awesome because I love their dynamic in the MCU films and wanted to try my hand at writing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter

‘Steven Grant Rogers if you don’t put down that ratty old hat this instant I will call Nat and get her over here. Let’s see you try and sneak that thing by _her_. Now, go and put that blue shirt on again – no, _not_ that one Steve, the one I’m pointing at - I’m pointing at it right now, look where I’m pointing Steve – yes that one. You’re worse than a child, honestly.’

‘Yes ma’am, worse than a child and just as messy.’ Steve saluted, grinned and disappeared into the bathroom to change, thankful that he _only_ had Peggy to help him get ready, and not Peggy and Nat as Peggy threatened. 

Not that he’d admitted it, you understand, but chances like this one didn’t come along every day, so sue him if he was a little nervous. Bucky was witty, complex and intriguing, _not to mention drop-dead gorgeous,_ and appealed to Steve’s brain as well as his eyes and heart. Well, and his cock, if he was being perfectly honest with himself. Which he was, because Peggy was here, and if he wasn’t anything other than 100 % honest with her in the room, even just in his own head, Steve just _knew_ that she’d weasel it out of him. Not only was Peggy his boss, she was also a friend and one of the few people who knew him really very well, and that meant _trouble._

Safe in his bathroom, where he didn’t _think_ that Peggy could hear his thoughts, Steve allowed himself to remember the kiss he and Bucky had shared the night before. It had been sweet and chaste, not at all like Steve had thought that Bucky would kiss – _and if he’d spent a fair bit of time thinking about exactly how Bucky would kiss, that was his own damn business_ – and that only intrigued Steve more. He wasn’t often wrong about people, but Bucky Barnes remained a tantalising mystery – not to be solved, no, but whose inner mechanisms he longed to be allowed to catch a glimpse of. Steve smoothed the Peggy-approved shirt over his chest, resolutely not looking at his own reflection in the mirror, and hoped beyond hope that tonight would go well. If it didn’t - 

‘Steve! What are you doing in there? I just asked you to change your shirt, not paint the bloody Sistine Chapel!’

Steve sighed. What had he signed himself up for? 

‘Coming, Pegs.’

Steve stepped out into his bedroom, once more in front of Peggy’s critical eye. His bed was covered in rejected outfit choices, _boy, for a person who earned his living in the creative arts, he sure had no clue about how to put together a creative outfit._ But that was what Peggy was for. She never steered him wrong, even when he himself felt like a wild animal in a wood full or bear-traps. 

‘Much better, Steve. You look very handsome. Now, what jumper were you thinking to go with it?’

‘Oh, you mean what _sweater_ was I thinking of?’ 

‘Steven, don’t sass me or I may never help you out again. Go get that aubergine knitted one.’

‘And deprive yourself of the thrill of bossing me around? And don’t you mean the _eggplant_ coloured one?’ _Did he even own such a sweater?_

‘If I meant eggplant, I would have said eggplant.’

‘Whatever you meant, I don’t think I have one.’

‘Yes you do, it was your birthday present from Sam a few years back.’

‘Peggy! I don’t think that wearing a sweater that was a present from my ex-boyfriend is a good idea when I’m going on a date with someone else!’

‘Steve. There’s a reason Sam bought that particular jumper for you. You look edible in it, and don’t you want Barnes to just eat you up?’

Steve blushed heavily at the suggestion but made a half-hearted effort to rummage through his drawers, still arguing as he did so.

‘But why do I even need a sweater? We’ll be inside all of the time anyway.’

It is November, Steve, of course you need a damn jumper. Now don’t argue with me and go find where you left it. Or maybe, if you come across that navy one with the French cuffs, that would do as well.’

‘What the hell are French cuffs? Are you making this shit up just to mess with me?’

‘You know I wouldn’t do that to you. Have you found any jumpers worth wearing yet, or are you lost in this mess you call a bedroom?’

‘Ugh. Fight me.’

‘Best to get all your fights out of the way _before_ your date anyway. Unless you think Barnes is into that kind of thing?’ Peggy asked, grinning slyly. 

Steve turned to face her, pressing one hand to his chest. 

‘Margaret Rose Carter, you scandalise me!’

‘Steven Grant Rogers, don’t act like you haven’t wanted to get into that man’s trousers since the day you met!’

‘I am a pure, innocent little flower, Pegs. I have done nothing of the sort. Want to get into his – his trousers, no. _Pants,_ maybe.’ Steve muttered to himself, under his breath of course because Peggy didn’t tolerate back-chat. ‘Aha! Is this the correct shade of vegetable?’

‘That’s the one! Put it on quick, or you’ll be late.’

Steve jerked his arms through the sleeves of the decidedly _eggplant_ -coloured sweater, then glared at Peggy with all the dignity he could muster as she tweaked his collar and smoothed his hair. Her lips may have been pursed, but no-one who knew her could mistake the fondness in Peggy’s eyes. Shirt collar subdued, Peggy placed her hands on Steve’s shoulders and looked hard into his face. 

‘You look great, Steve. And tonight is going to be fine, but on the off chance that it isn’t, remember what I taught you. Always have a back-up plan. If you need a way out, text me and I’ll come get you.’

‘I’m not twelve years old, Peg. I can handle a bad date. Lord knows I’ve had enough of them by now to know what one looks like.’

‘That’s enough of that kind of talk Steve. I won’t have you feeling sorry for yourself. In any case, you don’t need to. Barnes likes you, remember? He knows you, and he likes you.’ Peggy’s gaze bore into Steve, making his squirm. He honestly didn’t know what he’d do without Peggy’s guidance. Even though they’d known each other less than a year, Steve felt as though he couldn’t remember a time before Peggy was in his life. They complimented each other as colleagues and friends, and if Peggy wasn’t already engaged, Steve may even have asked her out himself. He saw how happy Angie made her though, so he was content to be her friend. 

‘Thanks, Pegs. I really – I really want this to go well, you know?’

‘It will go well. _Trust yourself.’_

‘Hmph.’

Peggy rolled her eyes. ‘Trust me, then. I saw how Barnes looked at you the other night. He’s smitten, believe me.’

Steve sighed. ‘Yeah, ok Pegs.’ 

‘Steven.’

‘I know, I know. I like him too, I just – I don’t want to scare him off.’

‘That man needs a friend, Steve. Badly. Even if this date goes horribly, you can still be his friend, and I think it’ll be enough. But, of course, I’d prefer if you were something else, wouldn’t you?’

‘Jeez Peg, this is just the first date! At least wait a little before you start getting gooey on me.’

‘Did you just accuse me – _me!_ – of being gooey? Don’t make me full-name you again, young man.’ Peggy stepped back from Steve, smiling at him like an indulgent aunt.

‘Oh look, is that the time? I gotta go.’

Peggy laughed at him, easy and happy, and Steve smiled back a little tightly. He really did have to go. Steve wandered out into his kitchen, collecting up his wallet and keys as he went, absent-mindedly looking around for his sneakers. He grabbed one and started to pull it on – 

‘No! Not those – good grief, Steve, those things look like they’ve seen the trenches, for fuck’s sake. Where are your brown ones?’

‘But these ones are comfortable.’ Steve argued weakly, pouting a little.

‘Those ones by the door.’ Steve dropped the sneakers he was holding, admitting that they _could_ use a bit of a clean, and obediently ducked for the darker pair that Peggy had suggested. There were not many people who could make change his mind, but Peggy Carter was one of them. Stubbornly, Steve held onto the hat that Peggy had been trying to dissuade him from wearing. There was nothing wrong with it! Ok, maybe it had seen better days, but it was a perfectly serviceable beanie, thank you very much, and he’d wear it if he god damn wanted to. 

Steve pulled the hat on, inhaled and dared himself to look at his reflection in the full-length mirror on the wall. For a moment, all he could see were his own inadequacies… he was too short and too skinny, and his hair was weird and his eyes were squinty and his ears were too big… At least the shirt that Peggy had picked out looked alright, and he had to admit that the sweater did bring a little warmth to his usually pale face. He looked passable, he guessed. Not attractive, as such, but at least he looked neat. He could only hope that Bucky was into weird hair and squinty eyes. Steve turned away from the mirror before those thoughts could get out of hand.

‘Do I pass muster now?’ he asked Peggy to distract himself.

‘That hat again? Really, Steve? You’ll do, I suppose. Take your scarf.’

‘Yes, _mum.’_

‘Hey, you called me, remember? Take my damn advice for once, Steve.’

Steve raised one eyebrow at that, and Peggy smiled. They both knew that Peggy was Always Right, that’s just the way it was. She was still a little disapproving that Steve had made a move on Bucky the previous night, despite her advice to wait until the other man seemed more comfortable around him, but Steve was glad that he had followed his own intuition. For all that he trusted Peggy, Steve Rogers would always trust himself more. He knew his own mind and followed his own path, to the point where other people would call him stubborn, he knew, as he wound his red scarf around his neck and shrugged into his worn leather jacket, but as far as his own life went, the safest hands were still his own. He didn’t want anyone else’s hands on Bucky ( _hah!_ ) if he could help it. 

Finally ready, Steve followed Peggy through the doorway of his apartment. Peggy had pulled on her own coat and shoes, and walked out silently ahead of him. Steve locked the door, blew out a slow, heavy breath, and turned to face Peggy again.

‘Steve, it really will be fine. You’re a wonderful person and if Barnes can’t see that, he’s a damn fool.’

‘He’s anything but a fool, Peggy, but thanks for the pep talk.’ 

‘One more thing – aren’t you forgetting something?’

‘Do you just enjoy bossing me around?’

‘Don’t dish out what you can’t take, darling.’ Peggy handed Steve his inhaler and pill box, which Steve pocketed with a heavy sigh. His own illnesses weren’t exactly a great first-date conversation starter.

Seeming to read his mind, Peggy said quietly, ‘He’s also a damn fool if he thinks any less of you for taking these, Steve.’

‘I know. I don’t think he will, but.’

‘But you’ll be really disappointed if he does, because you really like him and you want this to work out?’ Peggy guessed. 

‘You read my mind,’ murmured Steve as they walked down the stairs, his mind already on the upcoming date. 

‘Ok Steve, I’ll leave you to it. Remember, be yourself, have fun, and if all else fails, do everything that I wouldn’t.’

‘That doesn’t leave much, now does it?’

‘Idiot.’ Peggy said lovingly, hugging Steve with one arm. Steve hugged back. Pressing his face into Peggy’s shoulder.

‘Thanks, Pegs. For all your help.’

‘Don’t get all mushy on me, Steve. Now scat, go get your boy.’

Steve grinned at her one last time, and went to get his boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GO GET 'IM, STEVIE!!


	13. First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve attempt to have a date, but alas, the course of true love never did run smooth...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: Anxiety, panic attacks, self harm. Not excessively graphic, but still a major theme in this chapter. If you'd rather not read about anxiety (I know I sometimes can't take it), skip to the end for a plot summary. The self harm mention is not in the main text, but is mentioned in the poem at the end of this chapter, where it will be trigger-tagged again. 
> 
> Only read if safe for you to do so, my little chicks, and please let me know if there's something I haven't tagged that you think I should have.

Bucky looked over his reflection in his bedroom mirror with a critical eye. He knew that there was something about his outfit that wasn’t quite right, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. Maybe if he was a little taller, a little bigger, a little more handsome, he could pull it off, but… 

Bucky sighed to himself and took off the Kingfisher-blue shirt he had on. _It was the shirt, it was totally the shirt._ He pulled on a clean cream-coloured linen shirt, took one look at himself and removed it immediately. Anything that exaggerated the bags under his eyes was right out. 

_Maybe it was the pants._

Bucky glared at his grey slacks disapprovingly.

_It was totally the pants._

He slipped out of them, but then he was right back to where he had started forty minutes ago, standing in his boxers in the middle of his room with no idea what to wear and anxiety dancing behind his ribs. Carefully, he folded up the slacks and re-hung the discarded shirts, waiting for inspiration to strike as he gazed miserably into his wardrobe. He didn’t remember the last time he’d actually been on a date – _it was before the accident,_ his brain reminded him – and so had absolutely no idea how to dress. The small Italian restaurant he had picked out was definitely a smart-casual kind of place, but he wanted to be on the smart side. Bucky had no doubt that Steve would look incredible – _he always did_ – and Bucky didn’t want to look like a slouch next to him. Besides, his therapist had told him that feeling comfortable in his own body was the first step towards being comfortable around other people, and dressing well definitely helped Bucky feel more comfortable. He thrust his rack of hangers aside, looking for the thing, the one piece of clothing that would make him look and feel great, and his eyes lighted on a plum-coloured dress shirt that he’d all but forgotten about. He slipped it over his shoulders, not daring to look at himself until it was buttoned and he was satisfied that it was hanging well. When he did take a look in the mirror, he wasn’t _completely_ turned off by what he saw. He reached for the grey slacks again. 

_It was never about the pants._

Shirt buttons stretched a little over his chest. He was definitely a few pounds heavier than when he’d last worn this, an observation that deflated what little ego he had managed to scrape together regarding his appearance. Compared to elegant, lithe Steve, he felt bulkier and less attractive than ever, like a hulking lump of stone next to the work of fine art that was Steve’s body. 

Anxiety flared up in his gut. 

_It’s just a date. You can do this you can do this you can do this. Other people do this all the fucking time why can’t you? Steve’s gonna see right through you, gonna see how boring and broken you are and then he’ll never want to talk to you again._

_Oh shit!_

Negative thoughts were something that he _really_ didn’t need right now. Bucky tried to focus on the fact that Steve had said yes to him, Steve had wanted this yesterday, and even if by the end of the night Steve wanted nothing further to do with him, at least he had the memory of that bright, exhilarating moment when he and Steve had kissed. It had felt so… right. Like that was where he was supposed to be, nestling Steve in his arms and shutting out the rest of the world. 

It was almost time for him to leave. He wasn’t going to be late for his first date in almost half a decade, no fucking way. Maybe he didn’t _need_ to arrive at the restaurant a full forty-five minutes before he and Steve had agreed to meet, but he wanted to be prepared. In case something happened – what if the restaurant had lost their booking? What if they didn’t have a table for them? What if he arrived and they were shut? What if the subway was blocked? What if there were road works or a police cordon or a fire or a robbery or a million other things which could conceivably go wrong and probably would because the universe hated him and it would be typical of his luck to have his well-laid plans go to shit at the last minute and leave him panicking on the sidewalk having to explain to Steve that he was a giant disappointment who couldn’t even plan a dinner date and… He would be early. Prepared. Just – in case. 

_He had to remember to breathe. This was too much to deal with. There was still time to call and cancel the date, invent an illness, death of a relative, anything to get him out of this…_

_No._

Memories of Steve’s teasing smile and ocean eyes sprang into his mind. That was why he was doing this, of course, how could he forget endless moments filled with Steve’s quiet chuckle in the silence of their office, Steve’s hands pouring him a cup of shared coffee, the look in Steve’s eyes as he thanked Bucky for having his back through confrontations with ignorant bosses and muscle-bound bullies. The chance to get to know those chuckles, those hands, those eyes a little better is the most important thing in the world at that moment, and the thought steadies him somewhat.

Before his thoughts could descend into confusion again, Bucky acted in a whirlwind of haste, shoved his feet into brown loafers and his arms into his winter coat. He snatched up his keys, wallet and phone from where they were thrown on his table, and slammed the door behind his on his way out. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky was early. He hadn’t thought this through, although he’d thought about every possible thing that could go wrong he hadn’t thought about what would happen if everything went right and he was standing outside the restaurant forty-five minutes early and feeling a little foolish. He couldn’t go in and ask after their table, it was most probably occupied by the preceding diners, and he couldn’t leave and come back, and hanging around outside in the dark felt a little silly, so he crossed the street and sat patiently on a bench where he had a good view of both sides of the street, and waited to see a familiar blond head come into view. 

It was cold, it was really fucking cold. Bucky could feel it creeping up into his back and thighs from the iron-hard wooden bench, soaking through his layers of clothing as though they didn’t exist. 

_Should’ve fucking thought this through, idiot._

Bucky sighed and blew into his hands to warm them. Even if he ended up frozen to the bench by the time Steve arrived, it was better than being late. Bucky had an iron-clad dread of being late for things, for keeping people waiting. He’d rather lie in wait and observe from a distance like a sniper, making sure he saw his quarry before they saw him, than have anyone wait around even for a second for him to appear. He supposed it came back to not wanting to disappoint anyone. 

Just as Bucky’s ass was starting to go seriously numb against the bench, he caught sight of Steve’s leather jacket and beanie, hurrying around the corner. Immediately he jumped up, almost ran to the restaurant door and leaned against it, pulling out his phone and giving the impression that he was just passing the time in a totally calm, totally not-sniper-like manner. Just playing on his phone, that was all that was happening here. He pretended to notice Steve, thought he’d got the moment timed right but _damn,_ Steve walked slower than he thought and he made eye contact too early. Now he had to smile at Steve in awkward silence as he waited for the smaller man to walk into earshot. 

_Shit. Fuck up number 1/ ?_

He smiled, however, and tried to play it off like he’d been watching something really interesting that coincidentally was happening just behind Steve, not making aggressive lingering eye contact with his date in the middle of the street and grinning like a fool. His heart was hammering in his chest, but he had to remain calm. 

_Calm?????_

_Conversation, right, that was what calm people did._

‘Hi, Steve.’

‘Buck! Hey, uh…’ Steve ducked his head and blushed, ‘hope you haven’t been waiting long?’

‘Nah, not long.’ _Lies._

Steve’s expression was earnest and a little shy, smiling like he wasn’t sure what to say. He was standing just out of arms’ reach with his hands shoved into his coat pockets. His nose was adorably red and Bucky wanted nothing more than to warm it up, possibly with enthusiastic kisses and mugs of hot tea. 

‘Shall we?’ Bucky indicated the restaurant door with a sweep of his arm. Steve seemed to relax, his smile widened and he took a tentative step towards Bucky. He nodded, once, and Bucky hauled the door open and motioned for Steve to go through.

‘After you, Stevie.’

Steve looked as though he didn’t know whether to kiss him or snap at him. His eyebrows lowered together but his mouth trembled in what could have been a smile as he walked through the door ahead of Bucky. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Divested of their coats and winter gear, Bucky and Steve were led to their table. Steve was wearing a soft-looking woollen sweater in a warm-toned purple-red hue that complimented his own plum-coloured shirt nicely, he thought. They looked as though they fit together, styled together, and that thought was terrifyingly warming. Seated opposite Steve in a quiet, out-of-the-way booth, Bucky was faced with the situation he’d been dreading all night. 

_Small talk._

Steve didn’t look like he was going to say anything, so Bucky plucked up his courage and asked, 

‘So, how was your day?’ Instantly, he cringed. What an asinine, banal thing to ask. This was Steve for shits sake, they could chat in their office all day so why was this so hard? 

Steve was looking at him like he had two heads. _Oh shit he’d ruined this before they’d even started._

‘Well I was certainly feeling yesterday’s work-out, if that’s what you mean. I slept well.’

‘Oh, that’s… good, that’s good.’

‘Yeah, it is. You, uh, you come here often then? To this – uh, here?’ Steve gestured towards the restaurant vaguely. This was going so much worse than Bucky’d thought it would. 

‘No, not really.’ _Shit._

‘So you don’t know what’s good on the menu, then?’

‘Uh, no. Sorry.’ _Oh fucking shit what the hell was going on with him tonight?_

‘Well. We can have that adventure together then, huh?’ 

Steve attempted a smile but it didn’t reach his eyes. Was he feeling the leaden mood as keenly as Bucky was? Clearly Steve wasn’t being dazzled by Bucky’s conversational skills and wit. Damn, they had yet to attempt an actual topic of conversation which lasted more than three sentences. 

Bucky sighed to himself, not intending Steve to hear. This date was a disaster. 

‘Buck? You alright?’ Damn, he must have sighed louder than he thought. 

‘Yeah, fine. Just – kinda nervous, is all.’ 

_That was ok, wasn’t it?_ To give Steve a little gift of insight into his feelings at that moment?

‘What have you got to be nervous about?’ Steve was frowning slightly, and that – no, that wasn’t good. Bucky never wanted to be the cause of that frown. 

‘I mean, I don’t exactly do this all the time, so...’

‘Buck, you talk to me all the time.’

‘No, Steve, I meant… _this._ Dating. It’s been - a while.’

‘Oh. Yeah, me too.’

‘Oh.’

Silence stretched on, both men avoiding the others’ eye. Steve looked like he was wrestling with himself to say something, but kept himself quiet with difficulty. 

_Ok, one of them had to start talking soon. This was getting silly. Bucky would have to be brave._

Bucky opened his mouth to say something, anything to break that terrible silence. Before he could form words though, Steve himself spoke up.

‘So what colour would you say this sweater is?’

Bucky blinked. ‘What?’

Steve looked desperately embarrassed at that, blushed and twisted his hands in front of him, but swallowed and pushed on.

‘This shirt? Like, I thought it looked eggplant but Peggy said aubergine, so…’

Bucky thought weakly, _Eggplant? What is eggplant? What is aubergine? What is life???_

‘Oh, I guess it’s, uh, eggplant is about right. I guess.’

_Was that the answer Steve was looking for?_ This was going from bad to worse. Bucky felt panic rising inside him, thick and harsh like bile. His stomach fluttered and cramped with anxiety. He could feel Steve’s gaze on him, judging him, finding him lacking, disappointing. He was sure that everyone else in the restaurant was staring as well, probably already thinking about how they would recount “overhearing the worst date of all time in the booth next to them” to their colleagues the next day. _Fuck, this was – fuck, FUCK this was a bad idea._

Bucky felt as though someone had released a thousand bees into his skull. A nauseating buzzing sound lurked behind his hearing, rising louder to cover the noise of their surroundings. He had to get out, he had to get away before something bad happened, something worse, something unforgivable. He could feel sweat soaking through his shirt and beading at his hairline, new he was breathing heavily and probably looked like he was about to explode. He put his head down into his hands to try and find some stability in his spinning world. 

‘Buck? You ok?’ Bucky felt a pressure on his wrist and realised that Steve had reached across the table to place a reassuring hand on his arm. 

‘Bathroom!’ Bucky jumped up out of his seat, not even caring that he practically shouted the word in Steve’s face. Without even a look back, he bolted, didn’t stop until he was safely locked into a stall with his head in his hands and his eyes screwed shut. 

_Don’t panic don’t panic don’t panic don’t panic oh no I’m panicking now I’m making it worse don’t panic don’t panic don’t panic just breathe. Breathe. It’s safe in here its safe safe safe._

That didn’t work. Telling himself he was safe would not work, he had to make himself believe it, and he knew from experience that panic attacks like these could only be calmed down by completely removing himself from the situation and holing up somewhere that he knew was safe. He would have to go home, he would have to abandon Steve. 

Oh well. That couldn’t be helped. Bucky knew – really knew, down to his core – that he could not salvage this evening with Steve, and that if he tried he would only make it worse for himself. He just going to have to be brave once more, in a way that had nothing to do with small talk. Bucky could think of nothing else but getting back home where he could come apart in peace. 

Stumbling, giddy, he unlocked the stall and returned to the restaurant where he could see the back of Steve’s head still waiting in their booth. Steve looked to be bent over his phone, probably telling all his friends about what a weirdo Bucky was and how this date was a huge mistake on his part. Bucky walked abruptly up to the booth, resolutely not meeting Steve’s confused eye, grabbed his coat from where he’d discarded it next to his seat, and said, with regret in every syllable,

‘I have to go... Sorry.’

‘What – Bucky? Bucky wait!’ Steve fumbled to get out of his seat but Bucky had turned his back and was hurrying out of the door, allowing his longer stride to carry him further and further out of Steve’s reach. 

He heard the restaurant door slam behind him and then Steve was calling out after him.

‘Wait! Bucky? Please, please stop!’

It was – it was the _please_ that got him. God he was a sucker for this man when he sounded so broken. Bucky whirled around to face Steve, who was wheezing slightly as he caught up with him.

‘Bucky? You wanna explain to me what the hell that was?’ 

_Oh shit Steve was angry. Shoulda kept walking._

‘I had to leave, I was making things miserable for you.’ _Oh shit he hadn’t meant to be that candid._ Steve’s mouth fell open. Why was his head spinning? 

‘No you weren’t!’

‘I was, I – Steve, please, please just let me go home?’ Bucky was close to tears. The swarm of bees in his head wasn’t letting up, rasping angrily against his skull and making the world spin. He was aware that he may have been hyperventilating but in a distant, detached way, oxygen not quite reaching his brain. Steve, seeming to realise that something was very wrong, moved closer to Bucky and held out both hands in a gesture of trust, his eyes hopeful. At that moment, however, physical touch was too overwhelming to even contemplate, and so Bucky shied a step backwards. Steve put his hands up as though calming a skittish animal, moving inexorably forwards as he did so.

‘Bucky. You’re having a panic attack. Breathe with me Buck. Come on, come here, sit down.’ Steve came closer, still not touching him but hovering his arms over Bucky’s chest in a clear shepherding gesture towards the same bench where Bucky had waited for Steve not an hour before. Had it really been so little time? 

Bucky sat obediently and closed his eyes, feeling Steve flop down beside him. Bucky curled forwards in shame, letting his head hang down almost to his knees. 

‘It’s ok, you’re ok Buck. I know it sucks but you’re safe, ok? Ok. Please tell me what to do, is this even helping?’ A note of panic had crept into Steve’s voice now.

‘Steve –’ Bucky forced out between his froze lips.

‘Ok, ok. Focus on me. Do you want me closer, or further away?’

_Questions. Expectations. He couldn’t make those choices right now, didn’t Steve get it? The bees in his brain had shut off the blood supply to his hands and he couldn’t feel the wool of his coat anymore, and Steve expected him to make a decision?_

Bucky let a wail of indecision escape him, not knowing whether he wanted Steve to pull him close and hug him or leave and never speak to him again. Steve didn’t wait for an answer, but scooted closer and gently placed one hand on Bucky’s back, between his shoulder blades. He rubbed small, caring circles over his coat, soothing and repetitive, and the two of them stayed like that, in complete silence, until Bucky felt his breaths calm and the swarm of bees settle into a kind of dull murmuring backdrop. It took a long time, but Steve's hand kept up its rhythmic circling, never once deviating from it's well-worm route over Bucky's back.

‘Steve. I’m so fucking sorry. I – I ruined our date, didn’t I?’

‘You didn’t ruin anything, Buck.’

‘I did. I left.’

‘Ok yeah, that part wasn’t great, but it's alright. Panic attacks are nothing to be ashamed of, and you clearly needed to get out of there. Can I ask – was it something that I – ’

‘No! No Steve, it was nothing you said or did. I t was me, all my stupid brain. I get – like that sometimes, nothing to do with you, although I am sorry that you had to witness that. I’ve been told it can be quite scary.’

‘Bucky – aw fuck, don’t even think about me. Focus on yourself, focus on how you’re doing. Think you can stand?’

Bucky curled further into himself. 

‘Not yet.’ He mumbled into his knees. ‘Steve, I really am sorry. I wanted tonight to be good, I really did.’

‘Still worrying about me… You’re a pretty amazing guy, you know that?’

‘I’m really not, Steve. It’s nice of you to say that, but –’

Steve cut him off, moving closer again so that Bucky could feel the front of Steve’s coat brushing his. Steve kept one hand on his back and moved the other to gently land on Bucky’s right arm.

‘Bucky. Listen to me. You. Are. Amazing. You _are._ ’ Steve punctuated every word with a light stroke of his hand up and down Bucky’s arm as though trying to rub the words into his skin like a balm. 

‘I don’t want to talk about this anymore.’ 

His voice came out lower and more quiet than he meant, giving away how important this was. Steve ducked his chin and caught Bucky’s gaze, the sheer force and intensity of his sky-blue eyes stopping him from looking away. Then he sighed and removed both hands from Bucky’s body.

‘That’s ok, we don’t have to talk about it. We don’t have to do anything. No pressure, alright?’

Bucky could do nothing but give Steve a wan smile in return. He felt utterly drained of energy and could manage no more emotions this evening.

‘Is it ok if I just go home? We can do this another time. I’m sorry.’

‘Of course. And hey, there’s no pressure, none at all. If you don’t want to do this again, that’s ok too. You don’t have to worry about telling me to – back off. If that’s what you want.’

‘That’s the last thing I want. Despite appearances.’

‘I – just, you know. Thought I’d say it. In case.’

‘We could – try this again sometime? Maybe start over with something small?’ Bucky asked, not daring to believe that Steve might still want – could ever still think about – after tonight’s shitshow of a date – 

‘Yeah. I’d like that.’ 

‘You would?’

‘Yup. If – if you would?’

‘I would.’

Bucky pulled up his head with a huge amount of effort, trying to ascertain the truth of Steve’s words. They gazed at each other helplessly, each one allowing themselves to hope, desperately, against all reason, that the other one returned even a fraction of the feeling they themselves felt. Finally, the eye contact crossed from sweet into awkward, and they both looked away. Bucky let out a helpless giggle at just how absurd his evening had turned out to be, and Steve blushed at him in return. 

‘Feeling better, Buck?’

‘You know? I think I am. I think I’m ready to head home though.’

‘Yeah, ok. How about I walk you back to the subway?’ 

Steve stood up, turned back to Bucky and offered him his hand. Bucky looked at the outstretched hand, blunt fingers and artists callouses, and took it gently. He stood up, stumbling slightly at the rush of blood through his head as he did so, but not letting go of Steve’s hand. 

Steve gave him a very real, sunny smile, and, hand in hand, they set off along the sidewalk to the station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary:  
> Bucky is nervous about going on a dinner date with Steve. He turns up too early and makes himself anxious while waiting for Steve to arrive. Once inside the restaurant, Bucky has an anxiety attack and leaves, thinking that Steve will never want to talk to him again because of it. Steve follows him, calms him down, and they make plans to try another date once Bucky is feeling better. The chapter ends with them walking hand in hand to the subway station having resolved to take things slow.
> 
>  
> 
> So... turning up 45 minutes early to a date - hands up who's done that? Just me? Alrighty then.
> 
> I've had a rather emotional counselling session this week and afterwards I needed to write some hurt/ comfort.
> 
> This week's poetry selection: If you have never had a panic attack and you, for some reason, want to know in excruciating detail what it's like, read on. If you, however, cannot read about anxiety or panic attacks, please skip this.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: this poem contains mention of self-harm (cutting).
> 
> THE PERFECT PANIC ATTACK
> 
> Instructions on Having the Perfect Panic Attack:  
> Find a trigger  
> A job interview, the claustrophobia of mass  
> transit  
> Deciding what to have for dinner  
> It will help if you have a chronic condition:  
> Severe depression, an anxiety disorder, asthma  
> This is ideal, but may not be possible for  
> everyone  
> Your body will instinctively revert to its  
> most primal state, fearing for your life  
> Your sympathetic nervous system will activate  
> its fight or flight response  
> In the face of this perceived danger,  
> This decision between Chipotle and Chinese  
> food  
> The body can only panic for a maximum of about  
> 20 minutes.  
> Follow these instructions closely to make  
> the most of this time  
> Your breathing is the only part of this process  
> you can control  
> Do not.  
> This would drastically shorten the attack  
> Focus on the constricting of your ribcage,  
> On your drum major heart conducting this frantic  
> march  
> Mistake this for a heart attack or a stroke.  
> If successful, you may lose control of your  
> extremities  
> The caveman in your limbs will tense every  
> muscle to flee his predator  
> Your arms and legs will go numb, starting  
> at your hands and feet  
> Every twitch and tingle an attempt to run  
> for your life  
> Stay in place. Do not go for a walk. Do not  
> call your friends, your mother, your psychiatrist,  
> an ambulance  
> By now, you should be in a full panic, hyperventilation  
> cutting off oxygen to your brain  
> You will feel faint, become certain of your  
> own death  
> Do not call your friends. Do not call your  
> mother. Do not call your psychiatrist.  
> A panic attack is a remarkably solitary experience  
> The presence of another person could have  
> a calming effect and cut the attack short.  
> Resist the temptation to fumble a hand through  
> the desk drawer  
> for the medication you have been prescribed  
> for this  
> Instead, locate the tool kit  
> Your grandfather gave you three years ago  
> When he told you â€œIâ€™m giving you this  
> so you can fix anythingâ€  
> Place it on the desk. Open it.  
> Steady your right hand long enough to grasp  
> the box cutter  
> Note how close the blood vessels lie beneath  
> sheets of your skin  
> Place the blade of the box cutter to the snare  
> drum in your wrist  
> At this point, your panic attack may begin  
> to ebb  
> The body can only panic for a maximum of about  
> 20 minutes  
> As your breathing and heart rate steady, find  
> a bottle of water to hydrate yourself  
> Drop the box cutter into the garbage can  
> Return the tool kit to the desk drawer  
> Distract yourself with a walk or a TV show  
> Your body will assume it has survived for  
> another day  
> Until the next trigger  
> At which point you will repeat the process  
> But do remember:  
> You are not having a heart attack  
> You are not dying  
> The body can only panic for a maximum of about  
> 20 minutes  
> And in that time, every piece of you  
> Every basic, primal piece of you  
> Is screaming for you  
> To survive. 
> 
> \- Patrick Roche, from the US National Poetry Slam 2015
> 
>  
> 
> Seriously, if it is safe and healthy for you to do so, I encourage you all to watch the clip of him performing this on Youtube, if you feel like having your emotions wrecked today, because it is a heartbreakingly powerful piece and he injects it with so much realness and... yeah. 
> 
> Stay safe, friends.


	14. Coffee Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve are no longer co-workers, but that will never stop them from consuming ridiculous amounts of caffeine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends, sorry that this chapter is kind of late and kind of short. Honestly, this scene fought me real hard. I had to wrestle it into submission via countless re-writes. Early drafts had Bucky embarking on a Mission Impossible-style caper to get Steve a fresh coffee early in the morning without their bosses noticing, so you can see how much this scene has changed since then!! Fear not, more will be forthcoming soon enough...

Bucky opened his eyes on Monday morning two minutes before his alarm was due to go off. He lay in bed, moving nothing but his head to check the time on his alarm clock. One minute and fifty-three seconds until he had to get up – until he had to face reality. One minute forty-nine seconds. 

_Bucky Barnes, you screw things up better than you do anything else in the world._

One minute forty-four.

Bucky closed his eyes as memories from last night assaulted his brain. Himself dashing to the bathroom in a failed attempt not to let Steve see the extent of his anxiety. Leaving Steve open-mouthed in the restaurant before they’d even really talked, the only thought in his head to get out of there as quickly as possible, get somewhere safe away from Steve. Before all that, the iron curtain of the small-talk that Bucky couldn’t seem to break through. He screwed up his brow in frustration and shame at the memory. 

Fifty-one seconds.

There was nothing else for it – he was going to have to face the music. Today, tomorrow, sometime at work – sooner or later he would run into Steve and then have to explain that he was a giant failure of a human being who couldn’t even go on a date with his crush because he was too damn anxious. _Fuck._

_It wasn’t all bad though – Steve stayed. Walked to the subway. Held hands and said that he wanted to try again sometime. He really said that._

That could just have been Steve being polite though, right? Saying ‘oh yeah we should do this again sometime’ was just something that people said when they wanted out of an awkward situation without obligation, wasn’t it? After all, who on earth would want a second date with Bucky Barnes? 

Bucky sighed to himself gently, reminding himself not to be too self-critical like his therapist had wanted him to. Steve was pretty wonderful as far as other people went, and, thinking logically for a second, Bucky should trust him to say what he means. Steve had never been anything other than truthful with Bucky and that meant that if he said he wanted to try dating again maybe that actually meant that he did? Well, Bucky Barnes had just decided in that moment that he would _not_ be ashamed of his anxiety. If Steve didn't want to date Bucky any more because of it, then fuck him. It would be _his fucking loss._

The alarm went off. 

_Fuck._

Bucky rose and headed straight for the coffee machine, dread in every movement. Today was a triple-espresso-and-three-cigarettes kind of day. He’d thought about quitting – for Steve. Now he wasn’t certain anymore that Steve would want to be around him for long enough to passively inhale anything. 

Head full of churning indecision and anxiety, Bucky slowly got ready for work, all the while thinking himself in circles. Would Steve still want to be friends? Would he even talk to Bucky anymore? Would he want to give him space, or be concerned and hovering all the time? Would he have told everyone how badly their date went? The memory of Steve agreeing to try dating again sometime, even though he’d fucked it up badly, was the rope in the dark his brain was clinging to, trying to keep him from falling over the ledge. He had to hope that Steve still felt the same way this morning, even after having the whole night to think about how much he’d messed up.

Bucky crossed the lobby of the Stark Building, giving Clint a little wave as he ran for the elevator. He cradled his fourth coffee of the day in his hands and tried to protect his precious caffeine from being spilled as more people crowded in behind him. He couldn’t even move to press the button for his floor and just had to hope that someone else was getting out at the same stop as him. It was going to be a terrible day. Bucky cheered to himself when he managed to make it into his office without talking to or making eye contact with anyone, an achievement he thought was pretty good, considering. Without Steve’s desk and quiet presence taking up space, the familiar room seemed empty and cold. Bucky sat down, booted up his computer, and tried desperately to lose himself in the routine of work. 

11 am came around and Bucky’s head jerked up, reacting subconsciously to some unseen stimulus. Glancing around his office, for a moment he had no idea what had caused his break in concentration, before there was an insistent knock at the door. Probably a second knock, he thought, given the impatience it seemed to impart. 

‘Come in!’ he called out. 

The door opened and a tousled blond head wearing thick black glasses and a faint smile poked around it. 

‘Steve! Come in!’ Bucky was so delighted that he shoved himself back from his desk, managing to knock his knee on the desk in the process, and hobbled toward Steve.

Steve’s body followed his head around the door, wide grin expanding onto his handsome face. 

‘Bucky! I hope I’m not disturbing you?’

‘No! Not at all, please, come in and – oooooh, is that coffee? Stevie, you’re a lifesaver.’

Steve held a coffee pot and two mugs in front of him with a flourish. Bucky gestured and he set it down on the desk, then sat in the spare chair that Bucky offered him. Bucky was smiling so hard at Steve that he barely registered the silence, lost in his joyful thoughts. Steve had come to see him, had taken time out of the first day of his new job to come up to Bucky’s floor with coffee, and… _ok now stop staring. Stop smiling, it’s creepy._

Steve poured out coffee for the both of them after a moment of hesitation. He handed one to Bucky, who poured in three of the sugar packets he kept in his desk for emergencies, and took a sip. It was _good_ coffee.

‘So, Steve, what brings you to my lair today?’

Steve – _blushed?_

‘I know, it’s kinda soon,’ he started, ‘but I kinda liked having coffee with you every day. You know. First day of a new job, everything’s new and shiny and different, just thought I’d come and say hey. Find something familiar in all the chaos.’

Bucky grinned to himself because _Steve wanted to see him, Steve wanted something familiar and easy came up here, Steve liked having coffee with him._

Bucky couldn’t think of an intelligent reply to that which wasn’t nakedly sappy and adoring. 

‘Why would it be too soon?’ he asked gently.

Steve looked down at his coffee cup in his lap and – _there was that gorgeous blush again._

‘Well, you know, we only saw each other last night, and… isn’t there some sort of rule about waiting three days to call or something?’

‘Fuck the rules, man! I missed having coffee with you too!’

‘And it’s not like we got to spend a lot of time together last night.’ Steve stopped himself in horror at what he’d started to say. ‘N-not that that’s your fault or anything, I just meant that –’

‘Steve, it’s ok. I know that last night didn’t quite go as planned –’ Bucky paused – he hadn’t actually meant to approach that subject so head on – ‘which I think I should probably explain to you.’

‘No!’ burst out Steve.

‘No? I – I thought that you –’

‘No, I didn’t mean _no don’t tell me,_ I meant – well ok I did mean that – but not like you think. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Bucky, listen to me. I wasn’t gonna say anything if you didn’t bring it up but, I feel like I might need to say this – and please, stop me if this is overstepping because I tend to put my foot in my mouth when I’m nervous – tend to ramble, too, which I’m clearly doing now, and _Steve you meatball,_ just stop talking now! Ok, ok. Bucky. I don’t think any less of you for what happened last night. I never will. It sucks that you felt that way on a date, yeah I can admit that, but I just really want you to know… that we might date for ten days or ten years, or… we might be friends or we might argue and hate each other, but I can promise you right now that if we do end up hating each other, the thing that makes me take a step back will not be... anything like that.’

Bucky looked up into the furthest corner of his office ceiling. What needed to be said could only be so if he couldn’t see Steve at all.

‘Steve… thank you. That means a lot to me. But – if you want to continue dating me, you’ve got to know – those sort of things… panic attacks, anxiety… and the like… they’re not going to go away, and they can happen anywhere. Any time. Dating me isn’t easy and – that is, if you even want to date me after last night – you should know that. It isn’t easy. Won’t be – easy. Could even be more difficult than it needs to be, sometimes.’

 _That was hard. That was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say to you. You can just leave, now. I’ll only think a little less of you._

Bucky dared himself to look at Steve as he said the last sentence. Steve had leaned forward slightly in his chair and now locked eyes with Bucky. His face was pale and hard under Bucky’s office lights, but his eyes were soft. Come to think of it, Steve’s eyes were always soft no matter what the rest of his face was doing. It lent him such an air of kindness that Bucky didn’t feel cowed by the eye contact at all. In fact, he felt… secure. Important. Held. 

‘I think you’re worth it.’ Steve’s voice was quiet, almost reverent. Bucky had never heard Steve sound like that before. He could hear the breaths Steve took in between the words.

There was a moment where Bucky and Steve smiled at each other, one of them defiant, the other adoring. Bucky was aware that he could come across as kind of intense, but in that second, he felt Steve match the flame of his intensity with a torch of his own.

‘Well then, Bucky Barnes, will you go on a second first date with me?’

‘Stevie Rogers, I will.’

‘Perfect! How does Saturday sound?’

‘Perfect. How does brunch sound?’

‘Perfect.’

‘Perfect.’

~~~~~~~~~~ 

Coffee drunk, Steve left Bucky to his work, that faint adoring smile still on his face. Bucky stared at his computer screen, unseeing, thinking back to when Steve and he had first shared the office. He thought of the countless cups of coffee that the two of them had drunk together, each one cementing their friendship a little more. Bucky allowed his smile to widen to almost painful proportions, just for a second. 

_Second first date with the most sincere, kind man he’d ever met._

_Fuck yes!!!_

_Ok what if someone looks in and sees you smiling to yourself? Yup, still creepy. Back to work, Barnes._


	15. Second First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve try again. Brunch is awesome, coffee is once again used as a plot device, and perhaps everything isn't as terrible as Bucky had previously thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait for this chapter! I finished another fic in the meantime which you could check out if you want to read some fluff and smut *shamelessly plugs own fics* Enjoy this slice of silly boys and delicious food!

Saturday dawned bright and clear and cold. Bucky snuggled down into the heap of blankets on his bed, chasing their warmth for a few seconds longer while he still could. His sleepy brain, still tangled in the last moments of his dream, couldn’t quite place the feeling of contentedness he felt. Something good was going to happen today, and he couldn’t quite place it, but he felt sure that it was going to be a good day. 

_Oh! Yes, that’s right… brunch with Steve today!_

Instantly Bucky was awake, panic flooding his body. 

_Shit did I oversleep? What time is it, did I miss my alarm? Am I horribly late already and is Steve gonna hate me forever?_

He checked his phone with a leaden stomach, but to his intense relief, it was still early. He flopped back into the blankets with a sigh and rested his palm over his forehead. 

_Dammit that was stupid of me. Of course I set like four alarms, of fucking course I wouldn’t sleep through all of them. Probably._

Bucky went through his morning ritual of coffee, but paused when he stepped outside to light a cigarette. He _really_ didn’t want to smoke around Steve, given his asthma. Well, that and the fact that Bucky wanted to look forward to a kiss from the other man sometime soon an no-one wanted to kiss someone who tasted like an ashtray. He shoved the cigarette back into the box and vowed to buy some nicotine gum on his way to the café. Now that he wasn’t smoking, however, he needed something to do with his hands to keep him distracted. Bucky made himself another coffee, his hands shaking as he measured out the grounds. His fingers missed the reassuring shape of a cigarette between them, and his mouth missed the warmth and spice of the smoke curling around his lips. Fuck. This quitting business was hard. Steve was worth it, though, Bucky thought to himself, as he headed back to his room, second coffee of the day firmly in hand. 

\------------

Dressed in his favourite maroon henley, cosy and warm under his black leather jacket and with his hair tucked under a grey hat, Bucky walked slowly up to the café Steve had suggested they meet at. He peered suspiciously at the chalkboard which announced the days’ special. It looked hipster. 

_I don’t know what I expected_ , he thought wryly to himself. Steve may have been the definition of a hipster but that didn’t mean that he had bad taste. After all, Steve had been the one to introduce him to Bruce’s coffee shop and that delicious source of always-perfect caffeine which had become his staple haunt, even replacing his beloved Starbucks while he was at work (although don't tell the mermaid that!). Anxiety roiled in Bucky’s stomach at the thought that this date might turn out anything like the last one – and the less said about _that_ disaster, the better – but he squared his shoulders and pushed open the front door without a seconds’ hesitation, not giving himself any room for further doubt. 

Steve was already there, sitting in a booth on the far side of the café with a menu in front of him. When he saw Bucky, he gave him a pleased smile and a little wave that was adorably dorky. Bucky grinned in return and took a long moment to get his coat off, trying to hide his smile. His stomach was still churning but he had a much better feeling about this date than the last one. Perhaps, if he didn’t fuck this up entirely, Steve might even give him a chance at a second date. 

Bucky and Steve had been sitting opposite one another for no more than 1.5 seconds before Steve launched straight into the one subject that would mortify Bucky to have brought up right now, going redder by the moment and avoiding Bucky’s eye as he spoke. 

‘So, Buck. I’m not gonna pretend like last time we dated it went swimmingly, but I want you to know that I’m not holding anything against you, you don’t have to make up for last time or anything like that. I just – I just want you to enjoy yourself. If you’re not feeling great, please do me a favour and let me know? If anything gets too much for you, I promise I’ll – ’

‘ _Steve_ ,’ Bucky interrupted before he could become much redder, ‘it’s fine. I’ll let you know if I feel like being a giant fuck-up today and you won’t have to deal with my issues. Sound good?’

‘Buck, you’re not a fuck-up. Please don’t think that about yourself.’

‘It’s fine. Like I said, I’ll let you know. Now can we please talk about something else?’

 _Why was he being so combative all of a sudden?_ It wasn’t like this subject touched a nerve or anything. No, Bucky loved having his past failures drawn attention to like that. 

Steve raised his shoulders and nodded in an “I’m-humouring-you-for-now” kind of way, and not-so-tactfully changed the subject. 

‘So how much coffee have you had today?’

‘Stevie, there isn’t enough coffee in the world to make up for being awake at this time on a Saturday.’

‘Oh, I didn’t realise this was such a hardship for you!’ _Was that teasing – Steve had to be teasing him. What if he wasn’t teasing and Bucky had really offended him?!_

‘No! It isn’t! I didn’t mean it like that, Stevie!’ Bucky tensed in his seat, hands fisting as he drew them back from the table and into his lap. Shit, he’d screwed up already.

‘Buck, relax! I was just teasing you!’

Bucky exhaled and made himself unclench his fists. Slowly, he brought his right hand up to the table edge and placed the tip of his thumb back onto the wooden table top. He could do this. 

‘Not nice to tease a man before his fourth coffee, Steve. Thought you knew me better than that by now. Gonna give me a heart attack.’ Bucky grinned at Steve, trying hard to show him how not-bothered he was by the teasing. 

‘Four coffees is what’ll give you a heart attack. Don’t think I’ve got anything on that.’

‘You’re infinitely better company than a cup of coffee though, Stevie,’ drawled Bucky, fluttering his eyelashes in an over-the-top-way. Steve blushed outrageously and dropped his head to chuckle into his lap. 

_Yes Steve, sometimes I can flirt and tease right back!_

‘And I’m nowhere near as bitter.’

‘But you _like_ bitter coffee, Steve.’

‘Must be why I like you, then. Whereas _you_ like that sweet caramel shit.’

Bucky grinned at Steve and opened his mouth, but Steve got there first. 

‘Is this the part where you tell me you like me because I’m so sweet?’

‘Ha! Fat chance. Steve Rogers is not sweet. You may look all innocent with your big blue eyes, but I know that you’re an argumentative little shit underneath it all.’

Steve threw his head back and _roared_ with laughter at that. Tears streamed down his face – and Bucky didn’t think he was that funny – and he had to wipe his eyes with a swipe of his hand before he could calm down. 

‘Bucky!’ he gasped between breaths, ‘I don’t know whether to be offended or proud!’

‘Well, you should be proud, obviously. Being an argumentative little shit is a badge of honour!’

‘You gentlemen ready to order yet?’

Shit, he’d been having such a good time he’d forgotten where they were. The waitress raised one oh-so-patient eyebrow, and Bucky sheepishly turned to his menu. When he looked up, Steve was watching him, and Bucky thought he looked a little nervous. Once Bucky had ordered his pancakes with extra syrup and a large caramel latte with a flourish of his eyebrows in Steve’s direction _just to be a little shit right back_ , Steve turned to the waitress. He kept his eyes on Bucky and licked his bottom lip in a rare display of nerves. 

‘Do you have anything you can make gluten-free, dairy-free and nut-free?’

The waitress gave him a cold look and stated flatly that the gluten-free options were marked on the menu. Steve blushed. 

‘Yes, ok, I – I see that. The – the fritters. Can they be made dairy free?’

Sighing, the waitress nodded. She tapped her pen impatiently on her notepad and smiled tightly at Steve.

‘I’ll have that, please. And a black coffee. I’m sorry to be a bother, but I have allergies.’ Steve’s voice was quiet but firm, worried that he was making someone go to any more trouble for him, but refusing to be ashamed of his allergies all the same. Bucky admired Steve so damn much for that. _Never be ashamed of voicing your needs Stevie_ , a little voice thought in his brain – _but you’re a damn hypocrite, Barnes._

Their waitress sighed again, nodding as she wrote all Steve’s instructions down on her notepad, pan scratching slightly as she pressed down hard, then left with another tight smile. 

Bucky looked across the table. Steve had cast his eyes down into his lap and seemed to be struggling to keep a neutral face.  
Gently, Bucky inched his right hand forwards until it crept into Steve’s vision. 

‘Stevie. You good?’

Steve sighed heavily. ‘Yeah Buck. I’m good.’ He gave a wan little smile, looking tired for a moment, before his face snapped back into neutrality so fast it made Bucky blink in surprise. He didn’t want Steve to hide his feelings around him, which was probably a little hypocritical considering how much anxiety and fondness he was hiding from Steve at that very moment. 

Their coffees came over on the tray of the same exasperated waitress who had taken their order, placed quietly on the table. Steve looked up at her, but she didn’t meet his eye. Instead, she smiled at Bucky and told him to ‘Enjoy!’ before turning and leaving. Bucky grimaced at her retreating back before turning his attention back to Steve, who had what looked suspiciously like the beginnings of a Murder Kitten expression on his face. 

‘Forget her, Steve.’ 

Steve smiled a tight little smile and shook his head, a rueful grin on his face. 

‘Wait’ll she sees the amount of meds I’m gonna take with my food. That should give her something to stare at.’ Steve gave a self-deprecating laugh, but Bucky didn’t laugh along. He frowned at Steve. It was one thing for him to tear himself down, but Steve – no. Steve shouldn’t do that. 

‘Stevie? Let her stare. There’s nothing wrong with having to take meds.’

‘I know that!’ Ok this was not good, now Steve looked like he was getting pissed off with Bucky.

‘Yeah, ok, I’m sure you do, but – don’t pay her any mind, is all I’m saying. You – I’ve seen you defying people twice your size’ – _and here he thought of Brock and that asshole Hank Pym_ – ‘when they thought it was ok to look down on you, so – don’t let one stranger get to you.’

Steve looked at Bucky, his smile faint but his ocean blue eyes communicating more than he could say with words. 

‘Thanks, Buck. That – that means a lot.’

Bucky smiled right back. They were going to be fine.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The date was going well. _Suspiciously well_. Like, so suspiciously well that Bucky was expecting something bad to happen at any moment – that was how well it was going. Steve was fiery and kind and brave and witty, and Bucky in return thought he’d managed not to put his foot in his mouth _quite_ as often as he could have, and had kept his underlying social anxiety to a dull flare. The food was delicious, and Steve had swallowed three large pills before he started to eat with a defiant look in his eyes, but Bucky had just smiled at him and said nothing, and that had appeared to placate him. The thing was, once he got Steve on his own and they could talk one-on-one, he was fine. He knew Steve well enough by now that he knew how much teasing he could get away with, and he was able to gauge Steve’s reactions better than he had been a few weeks ago. It was just in large crowds or new situations that Bucky felt like the mouldiest banana in the fruit bowl, as it were. Infecting all the other fruit with his over-ripeness and making them mouldy by association. 

_No._

He had to snap out of that way of thinking if he wanted to keep his mental balance. He was _not_ that person any more, dammit! _Focus, focus back in on what Steve is saying_ …

‘I just felt like it was _right_ , you know? Like, everything makes sense to me, on paper where I can put things where I want them. Art is just – it’s always been there for me. I guess in the same way that poetry has been there for you?’

‘The difference between you and me, Steve, is that you _create_ art. I don’t write poetry.’

‘But you – ’

‘Oh sure, I can tell when someone else has written something worthwhile, but I guess my talents have always tended towards the more practical end of things. Organising. Evaluating. Editing. You know.’

‘Whereas I don’t think I’ve ever been organised a day in my life.’

‘Huh. Typical artist.’

‘Typical editor.’

‘You are such a punk.’

‘Whatever, jerkface! Bet you were a nerd in high school.’

‘I was a big fat _nothing_ in high school. Too concerned about stupid shit like fitting in to really be anything. I’m fucking glad I’m not like that anymore.’

‘I’m glad too. I was the nerdy art kid in high school. Used to get beaten up behind the bleachers every week.’

‘Steve, that’s awful!’ Bucky felt faintly sick at the image his brain supplied of tiny, skinny Steve Rogers, asthmatic, short-sighted, frail as anything, at the mercy of fat uncaring fists as he clutched his sketchbook tightly to his chest to protect it. 

‘I never let the bullies get to me, though.’ Steve said it with a kind of perverse pride that Bucky both wholeheartedly supported and vehemently hated. _How many times had Steve had to stand up after being knocked down?_

‘And now?’ Bucky asked gently.

‘I still hate bullies. I learned to stand up for myself pretty fast.’

Bucky’s heart beat with unbearable fondness for the small, defiant angel in front of him. 

‘Well you’ve got me now. I’ll stand up for you.’ 

_Shit, was that too intense for a second-first-date? It fucking was, Bucky Barnes you idiot!_

‘I can look after myself.’

‘I’ve said it before, Steve, and I’ll say it again. You don’t have to.’

Bucky sighed as Steve tried not to look fondly at him, again noting that his eyes seemed to say more than his mouth. 

They continued talking way past when they’d finished their meals, losing track of time as they got to know one another. Bucky could listen to Steve talk about art for hours. He loved the way Steve talked with his hands, how expressive his face was when he got animated over his favourite artists. He talked about comic books and graphic art the way other people described famous sculptures, as great treasures. He sounded almost reverent as he explained his views on beauty and the importance of artistic expression, and Bucky was perfectly happy leaning in to listen, trying to make an intelligent-sounding comment every now and again but really just content to listen to Steve’s uninterrupted ramblings. He was very cute when he rambled, and listening to a beautiful man talk at length on a subject about which he was passionate had always been one of Bucky’s greatest pleasures. There was something so reassuring about hearing other people wax lyrical about their own interests, like hearing it made it ok for _Bucky_ to talk about _his_ own interests. Surely, no-one whose own passions ran so deeply could judge another person harshly for their own interests? 

All too soon, Bucky became aware of an increase in the levels of background noise. He blinked – _when had the lunch rush started?_ He took a glance at his watch and was astonished to see that it was past midday. They’d been talking for over two hours – how had that happened? He leaned away from the table, disoriented in the way you are when you suddenly come back to a noisy reality after being absorbed in the most delightful conversation, where nothing else matters except you and your conversation partner. 

Even Steve looked a little lost. He glanced at his phone and frowned. 

‘Wow, sorry Buck. I’ve been rambling on and – lost track of time. I didn’t mean to keep you so long, you should have stopped me!’

‘Nah, Steve, I’ve been enjoying talking to you. It’s great hearing someone so passionate about what they do for a job. And to be honest, I lost track of time as well.’

Steve blushed and ducked his head. 

‘It’s really nice talking to you, too’ he mumbled into his chest. 

‘So, have you found a new gym to go to on Saturdays now that you’ve pissed off Brock and half of Hydra Fitness?’ Steve asked after a moment of mutual flustered eye-avoidance.

‘I have. You know Fogwells? The old boxing gym? I’ve been going there. You and Clint should come with me, actually. It was nice hanging out with you guys. Would have been a lot nicer if I hadn’t almost gotten into it with Brock, but I enjoyed it up until then.’

Steve’s cheeks pinked. ‘Yeah?’ he asked, ‘Sorry about that. I realise that I kind of made it so that you couldn’t go back to somewhere you’d obviously been going for a while, so…’

‘No, hey, Steve, don’t apologise. _I’m_ sorry for how long it took me to realise what an absolute tool Brock is. But Fogwell’s is much better. Seriously. If you still want to go, then… how about going with me?’

‘This afternoon?’

‘Sure.’ 

Even though they were dating now – _don’t get ahead of yourself, one and a half dates doesn’t count as ‘dating’_ – they could still hang out as friends, right? 

‘Sweet! I’ll text Clint.’ Steve beamed at Bucky, and he felt a comfortable warmth settle in his chest at the thought of having a group of friends – real _friends_ – to hang out with at the gym.

 

They grabbed their jackets, Bucky feeling guilty at taking up the table for so long when they weren’t eating anything anymore, and headed to the counter to pay. Steve left a generous tip on their table as they did so. Their waitress from before was nowhere to be seen, but there was a pissed-off-looking new guy behind the counter, tall, dark-haired and covered in old burns and scars, arguing with a smaller bald man, seated in a chrome wheelchair and obviously in charge. As Bucky approached, bald guy broke off their argument and turned to smile at him. Bucky felt bad for interrupting them, and pissed-off guy looked even more livid, obviously annoyed at being cut off mid-flow.

‘How was everything today?’ bald guy asked, and Buck thought he detected a long-buried English accent. 

‘It was all delicious, thank you.’ Steve answered for Bucky when he dropped his head and was about to mumble something vague and non-committal. 

‘Glad to hear it,’ came the answer, with a soft smile.

‘I also appreciated you guys accommodating my dietary needs. It’s no fun being allergic to all the most delicious things in life but your dairy-free fritters were really good. Please say thanks to the chef for me?’ Steve continued, and Bucky could only stand there while Steve demonstrated yet again why he was waaaaay too damn good for Bucky. Steve’s belief and faith in people was really… touching. In an old-fashioned kind of way. He managed to charm and flatter even pissed-off guy, whose eyes crinkled up a little at the corners in lieu of a real smile. Bucky wondered if he was the chef. 

‘Hear that Logan? He liked your fritters.’ Bald guy threw back over his shoulder towards pissed-off guy. Definitely the chef, then. Pissed-off guy – Logan – glared at Steve, his mouth working at though he was chewing an invisible cigar, but then his face softened and he muttered, 

‘No problem, bub – not your choice. I get that.’ 

Logan turned and stalked back through into the kitchen, and Steve smiled so brightly Bucky thought his face might fall off. Bucky wasn’t about to think anything like _seeing Steve’s faith in people rewarded made him want to be a better person_ , or anything dumb like that, but maybe, just maybe, if Steve carried on being a ray of fucking sunshine in his life he might convince Bucky to give people a second chance. Or a first chance. Maybe. 

Ok probably not, but – maybe. 

Bucky insisted on paying for their meals, saying that it was his way of apologising for last time. Steve, of course, said he had nothing to apologise for, but Bucky knew that wasn’t true. 

They stood outside the café door adjusting their coats and not knowing how to say goodbye. Bucky avoided Steve’s eye, wondered if it would be too presumptuous and awkward to go in for a kiss, but he really wanted to taste Steve’s mouth again. Their one kiss so far hadn’t been nearly enough. 

‘So, Stevie. I’ll, uh – I’ll text you the address. Of the gym? For this afternoon. If you still want to go, that is?’

‘Yeah! Sure, although after all that food I might need a little lie-down first. Can we make it for a few hours’ time?’

‘Sure thing, punk. Go home and sleep it off, I’ll text you later.’ Bucky hoped that his voice didn’t betray too much fondness and feeling – he wasn’t ready to reveal to Steve _just_ yet how much his friendship – _and more_ – affected him so early on. It was terrifying for even him to realise the unfilled depths within him, dark and echoing and lonely, and how far Steve’s friendship and their dates had gone towards smoothing those chasms closed. 

Not quite knowing what he was doing, Bucky leant in and pressed a closed-mouth kiss to Steve’s smooth cheek. Blushing at his boldness, he quickly stepped away before he could make Steve feel crowded. Steve, however, blushed furiously right back and stepped forward again, gloved hands coming up to tangle in the lapels of Bucky’s coat. 

‘Caught me by surprise,’ Steve breathed roughly.  
‘Lemme even it up for ya.’ Bucky’s reply was gruff and low. Then Steve tilted up on his toes, and Bucky bent his neck, so that their mouths could meet in a proper kiss. Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s back, and Steve’s left arm snaked around Bucky’s waist, and they stepped into one another, thighs brushing and chests grazing as they breathed and kissed. Bucky drew away first, feeling a little kiss-drunk. Looking at Steve, he could see that the smaller man looked about as dazed as he felt. It was a good look on him, one Bucky immediately wanted to see more of.

‘That was the cheesiest line ever pulled, Barnes.’ 

‘Worked though, didn’t it?’ Bucky replied with a cheeky half-smirk. Who thought that teasing Steve could be so much _fun?_

Steve smiled back, and ducked his head, chuckling a little. 

‘Ok ok, maybe it worked a little.’

‘You’re not gonna die of a little cheese, Steve. Besides, if you think that was bad, you aren’t even prepared for the rest of my lines.’

‘You’ll have to show me sometime.’ Steve quirked an eyebrow up, definitely flirty, and Bucky smiled but said nothing. He bent to press another small kiss to Steve’s mouth but kept it chaste and soft before drawing away slowly. 

‘Always leave ’em wanting more, eh?’ Steve teased. ‘You heartbreaker.’

Bucky winked, enjoying putting on a little show for Steve a lot more than he had in a long, long time.

‘See you this afternoon then, cheese-boy. Text me.’

‘I had a great time, Steve. Take care. I’ll think of something extra-ripe to get you with when I see you later.’ Bucky and Steve shared a last smile before Bucky turned and headed back to the subway station, smiling to himself the whole way. 

What a difference a week could make! Their last date had been a source of anxiety beyond anything he’d dealt with recently – _and maybe he should call his therapist again_ – but this one, although a little nerve-wracking, had been nothing like as bad. Bucky knew he’d built their first date up in his head until it was some insurmountable _thing_ that he had to meet head-on, but he now knew that he didn’t need to. Turns out, spending time with Steve on a date was just like spending time with Steve not on a date. They were still friends who teased and laughed and made each other smile. They were still allies against unjust bosses and bored waitresses. They were still Bucky-and-Steve, whether as dates or friends or anything else. They were just _them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brunch is awesome, isn't it? Brunch covers a multitude of sins. Woke up too late? Brunch. Hungover as all hell? Brunch. Parents in town and don't want to show them your messy apartment? Brunch. Date goes badly and need to make it up? Definitely brunch. I live in New Zealand at the moment, and I dunno what it is but Kiwis are *obsessed* with brunch. Everywhere serves brunch and there are so many wonderful options. Is it like that where you all live? If, like me, you have dietary restrictions that prevent you from eating delicious food, how do you cope with brunching out? I just order the best non-dairy non-soy option I can, which in reality means that I eat a lot of jam on plain toast, but when I find a place with good dairy-free options I make it my mission to eat everything on the menu! 
> 
> Anyway, enough about me. Here's a wee poem for this chapter, something fluffy and silly because I've had enough of the angst this week. 
> 
> THE KING'S BREAKFAST
> 
> The King asked  
> The Queen, and  
> The Queen asked  
> The Dairymaid:  
> "Could we have some butter for  
> The Royal slice of bread?"  
> The Queen asked the Dairymaid,  
> The Dairymaid  
> Said, "Certainly,  
> I'll go and tell the cow  
> Now  
> Before she goes to bed."
> 
> The Dairymaid  
> She curtsied,  
> And went and told  
> The Alderney:  
> "Don't forget the butter for  
> The Royal slice of bread."  
> The Alderney  
> Said sleepily:  
> "You'd better tell  
> His Majesty  
> That many people nowadays  
> Like marmalade  
> Instead."
> 
> The Dairymaid  
> Said, "Fancy!"  
> And went to  
> Her Majesty.  
> She curtsied to the Queen, and  
> She turned a little red:  
> "Excuse me,  
> Your Majesty,  
> For taking of  
> The liberty,  
> But marmalade is tasty, if  
> It's very  
> Thickly  
> Spread."
> 
> The Queen said  
> "Oh!:  
> And went to  
> His Majesty:  
> "Talking of the butter for  
> The royal slice of bread,  
> Many people  
> Think that  
> Marmalade  
> Is nicer.  
> Would you like to try a little  
> Marmalade  
> Instead?"
> 
> The King said,  
> "Bother!"  
> And then he said,  
> "Oh, deary me!"  
> The King sobbed, "Oh, deary me!"  
> And went back to bed.  
> "Nobody,"  
> He whimpered,  
> "Could call me  
> A fussy man;  
> I only want  
> A little bit  
> Of butter for  
> My bread!"
> 
> The Queen said,  
> "There, there!"  
> And went to  
> The Dairymaid.  
> The Dairymaid  
> Said, "There, there!"  
> And went to the shed.  
> The cow said,  
> "There, there!  
> I didn't really  
> Mean it;  
> Here's milk for his porringer,  
> And butter for his bread."
> 
> The Queen took  
> The butter  
> And brought it to  
> His Majesty;  
> The King said,  
> "Butter, eh?"  
> And bounced out of bed.  
> "Nobody," he said,  
> As he kissed her  
> Tenderly,  
> "Nobody," he said,  
> As he slid down the banisters,  
> "Nobody,  
> My darling,  
> Could call me  
> A fussy man -  
> BUT  
> I do like a little bit of butter to my bread!"
> 
> -A.A. Milne

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic. I appreciate all comments and concrit as long as it's kept civil.


End file.
